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LISBETH     WI  LSON 


A  DAUGHTER 

OF 

NEW  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS 


BY 

ELIZA  NELSON  BLAIR 


LEE  AND  SHEPARD  PUBLISHERS 

IO      MILK      STREET 
BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD 


AH  nights  Reserved 


'LISBETII  WILSON 


TO 

MY    HUSBAND 

WHOSE   LIFE   IN   PEACE   AND   WAR   HAS   BEEN   GIVEN   TO   THE 

HONOli   AND   SERVICE    OF   THE   DEAR 

OLD   STATE  ;    AND   TO 

MY    SON' 

THIS   STORY   OF  'NEW  HAMPSHIRE   IS   INSCRIBED 

E.  N.  B. 


2229177 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  DAUGHTER  OF  NEW  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS     .     .  1 

II.  WHICH    MAY   BE    SKIPPED 11 

III.  MRS.  LAXE  VISITS  AT  THE  KINGS' 18 

IV.  ONE  WORD  BRINGS  ON  ANOTHER 28 

V.  AT  MR.  WILSON'S 38 

VI.  SOME  DOMESTIC  MATTERS 48 

VII.  MRS.  LANE'S  LITTLE  BROWN  HOUSE     ....  56 

VIII.  QUILTING 66 

IX.  MR.  BENSON 80 

X.  HAYING 95 

XI.  CATECHISING  CHILDREN 109 

XII.  MEETING  BETWEEN  MR.  WARD  AND  MR.  BENSON,  119 

XIII.  THE  MORNING  AFTER  SINGING-SCHOOL      .    .    .  128 

XIV.  DAME  WILSON  AND  A  VISIT 144 

XV.  ALONG  BY  THE  POND 152 

XVI.  CAMP-MEETING 162 

XVII.  MEETING  BETWEEN  THE  KING  AND  SQUIRE     .  172 
XVIII.  MUSTER 181 

XIX.  MR.  WILSON  CARRIES  A  GRIST  TO  MILL    .     .     .  195 

XX.  His  GRIST  is  GROUND 205 

XXI.  HOYT'S  TAVERN 217 

XXII.  AT  HOME 229 

v 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII.  SPELLING-SCHOOL  AND  SUGARING-OFF    .    .    .  240 

XXIV.  BARN-RAISING 253 

XXV.   Ax  MB.  WILSON'S 264 

XXVI.  AN  OCCURRENCE  AT  PLYMOUTH 276 

XXVII.  TEA  AT  MR.  BAKER'S 285 

XXVIII.  MR.  HOLMES  BUYS  LUMBER  ....'...  294 

XXIX.  THE  KING  TAKES  A  SAMPLE  TO  MARKET  .  .  302 

XXX.  A  LATE  OCTOBER  DAY 315 

XXXI.   PARISH  VISITS 325 

XXXII.   MR.  WILSON'S  ILLNESS 337 

XXXIII.  FATHER  BENSON  CALLS  ON  MR.  WILSON    .     .  349 

XXXIV.  THE  END  .  301 


'LISBETH   WILSON 


CHAPTER   I 

A    DAUGHTER    OF    NEW    HAMPSHIRE    HILLS 

UP  in  northern  New  Hampshire,  on  a  delightful  April 
morning  of  the  sweet  old  days,  a  rosy  child,  with  spring- 
time buoyancy  in  every  motion,  climbed  over  the  stone 
steps  of  a  wall  close  by  a  pair  of  bars,  sprang  with  a 
hop,  skip,  and  jump  across  a  road,  by  a  garden,  to  the 
front  door  of  a  house,  turned,  and  watched  a  flock  of 
sheep  which  she  had  just  fed  with  corn  and  beans.  One 
red-mittened  hand  held  a  wooden  measure  carelessly  by 
its  brim. 

She  was  Dorothy  Wilson,  seven  years  old,  daughter 
to  Thomas  Wilson  and  his  wife  Martha,  who  owned  the 
dwelling  and  farm  around  it. 

Curling  locks  of  brown  hair  showed  under  a  quilted 
red  hood.  Her  long,  full  cloak  of  black-and-white 
checked  flannel  was  gathered  into  a  yoke  around  the 
shoulders.  It  blew  back,  disclosing  a  wine-colored  flan- 
nel gown  and  blue  linen  tier.  Pantalets  like  the  dress 
touched  the  instep  of  her  high  leather  bootees. 

1 


2  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  unpainted  house  behind  her  was  built  at  a  fork 
of  roads,  well  back  from  each.  It  was  large,  double, 
substantial,  and  faced  south.  It  was  slightly  lapped 
on  its  northern  side  by  a  low  shed,  which  ran  easterly 
nearly  to  one  road. 

The  great  woodyard,  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  gable- 
end  of  the  house  and  the  shed,  had  a  couple  of  ox-sleds 
on  its  carpet  of  chips,  and  an  ox-yoke  or  two  lying  about. 

Jack  and  Tom  Wilson,  aged  eleven  and  nine  years  re- 
spectively, sat  on  a  sled-tongue.  One  divided  sweet 
elder  sticks  a  foot  long,  grooved  each  half  of  them  by 
removing  the  pith,  and  whittled  one  end  to  fit  a  three- 
quarter-inch  augur-hole,  thus  making  sap-spiles  for 
maple-trees.  The  other  was  mending  a  pair  of  old 
trucks,  and  both  were  whistling. 

At  the  woodpile  the  hired  man,  Mr.  Tyrrell,  was 
riving  tough-grained  logs  with  beetle  and  wedge,  and 
keeping  an  eye  on  the  boys. 

On  the  westerly  side  of  the  house  two  barns  were 
joined  together  by  a  shed.  The  lower  or  little  one  was 
thickly  plastered  by  swallows'  nests,  till  that  morning 
bare  and  untenanted. 

Close  by  Dorothy's  feet  some  robins  were  pulling  at 
a  string  to  put  into  the  foundations  of  a  nest,  and  a 
pair  of  pewees  chattered  in  the  blue-damson  tree  on  the 
other  side  of  the  front  yard. 

The  door  behind  Dorothy  opened ;  and  another  girl, 
seemingly  twenty  years  old,  came  forth,  saying,— 


A  Daughter  of  New  Hampshire  Hills  3 

"  Grained  the  sheep,  Dorothy  ?  How  summery  it  is 
out  here ! " 

"  Yes,  'Lisbeth.  Pussy-willows  are  out  by  the  brook. 
Can't  we  hunt  them  ?  " 

"  No  ;  mother  needs  me-  to  sew  on  the  boys'  spencers. 
The  hills  and  woods  are  coming  alive,  Dorothy.  See  ! 
right  here  grass  is  pushing  up  by  the  banking,  and 
there's  more  out  by  the  clumps  of  lilacs  and  roses." 

Her  voice  was  full  and  sweet,  her  complexion  the 
hue  of  pale  mayflowers.  She  had  a  fine  low  fore- 
head, rather  heavy,  but  well-curved  brows,  deep  sap- 
phire eyes.  Steady,  faithful,  righteously  proud  eyes 
they  were. 

Her  nose  was  delicate,  mouth  large  but  sweet,  chin 
too  strong  for  beauty,  yet  curving  exquisitely  to  the 
perfect  throat.  She  was  tall,  slender,  with  beautifully 
rounded  muscles,  which  were  almost  as  firm  as  her 
brothers'. 

In  body,  mind,  and  spirit  a  consummate  blossom 
hanging  to  the  healthful,  if  somewhat  thorny,  stem  of 
a  new  and  imperial  civilization. 

This  girl  was  'Lisbeth  Wilson,  christened  stately, 
queenly  Elizabeth,  but  the  name  shortened  and  made 
practical  after  the  manner  of  her  day  and  generation. 

Her  dress  was  woollen,  colored  like  Dorothy's,  well- 
fitted,  edged  at  the  neck  with  a  white  linen  ruffle. 

The  child's  feet  ached  to  be  off  as  she  complained,  — 

"  I  want  to  go.     Do  come,  'Lisbeth." 


4  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  boys'  jack-kuives  clicked,  and  Tom  called  out  as 
they  ran  to  her, — 

"  Yes,  'Lisbeth,  do  go.  Let's  have  some  fun.  It's 
awful  poky  makin'  spiles  and  fixin'  old  trucks.  Mebby 
we'll  catch  a  woodchuck." 

"  Huh  !  "  said  Jack.  « Woodchucks  !  Wait  till 
they're  thawed." 

"  Look  at  the  little  barn ! "  said  'Lisbeth  eagerly. 
"  See  !  a  swallow  !  and  they  keep  coming." 

Sure  enough,  the  advance  guard  of  thousands  that 
moment  arrived,  and  twittered  full  of  glee  among  the 
brown  nests. 

"  Jack,  come  back  to  these  spiles,"  called  Mr. 
Tyrrell. 

"  Oh,  I  hate  'em  !     'Lisbeth,  won't  you  go  ?  " 

"  No,  boys  ;  mother  cannot  spare  me,  and  you  must 
go  back  to  work." 

They  must  needs  be  satisfied,  for  obedience  was  in- 
grained ;  so  they  returned  to  spiles  and  trucks  ;  but  she 
rested  a  hand  on  the  little  maid's  shoulder,  and  watched 
the  hills  and  cloud  shadows  flying  over  them. 

Like  hundreds  of  others  in  the  State,  that  landscape 
in  the  south-west  corner  of  Plymouth  did  "  snatch  a 
grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art."  Eastward  a  highway 
came  down  the  schoolhouse  hill  (which  was  only  a 
ridge),  crossed  a  brook,  passed  over  a  short  level,  then 
ran  behind  the  woodpile,  and  came  out  and  disappeared 
down  the  little  barn  hill. 


A  Daughter  of  New  Hampshire  Hills  5 

Southerly  beyond  the  dooryard  was  a  garden,  then 
the  road,  with  a  field  beyond,  where  lambs  were  skip- 
ping and  sheep  sedately  crunched  their  grain.  The  field 
sloped  gently  down  to  a  meadow  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, where,  among  reddish-brown  knolls,  they  caught 
the  glimmer  of  a  little  trout-brook,  as  it  hurried  its 
swollen  current  into  the  woods  below  the  meadow. 

The  forest  of  mixed  hardwood  and  evergreen  trees 
skirted  the  lowland  all  its  length,  and  climbed  in  a  zig- 
zag way  partly  up  to  the  long,  undulating  summit  of 
Smith  Hill,  one  of  the  Bridgewater  range.  Easterly 
Smith  Hill  ran  into  descending  spurs  of  Plymouth 
Mountain  ;  westerly  it  fell  abruptly  to  the  Pond. 

Its  north-western  shoulder  slanted  gently  toward  them 
down  to  a  sun-blessed  valley  of  a  few  acres  between  it 
and  the  woods,  which  small  plat  of  ground  made  Mr. 
Moses'  farmr  whose  weather-beaten  buildings  were  nearly 
on  a  level  with  the  Wilsons',  but  the  two  dwellings  that 
dotted  the  summit  of  Smith  Hill  were  considerably 
higher.  One  house  was  owned  by  Ephraim  Smith,  the 
other  by  his  Cousin  John. 

Rippling  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  sparkling  north- 
ward to  Hebron,  lay  Newfound  Lake,  spoken  of  by  all 
inhabitants  of  the  region  round  about  as  "  The  Pond." 

They  saw  where  Sugarloaf  almost  marked  its  northern 
bound,  monarch  of  the  attending  line  of  low  peaks  that 
girt  its  thither  shore.  From  the  foot  of  the  Pond,  clear- 
ing it  like  a  wedge  wide  at  the  base  and  narrow  at  the 


6  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

head,  and  equally  dividing  its  waters,  the  woody  "  Point " 
reached,  nearly  half-way  to  Hebron.  Across  the  lake, 
and  below  it,  tier  on  tier  of  hills  and  mountains  rose. 
They  saw  where  Kearsarge  turned  his  face  to  the  morn- 
ing; and  way  down  in  the  southwest,  on  the  horizon's 
outmost  brim,  Monadnock's  seamed  and  grand  old  fore- 
head was  flushed  with  sunlight. 

Their  dreamy  silence  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of 
spirited  steps  crushing  delicate  veils  of  ice  over  tiny 
hollows  in  the  road  behind  the  shed ;  and  immediately  a 
trim,  slight  woman  of  medium  height  and  middle  age 
came  into  view  round  the  shed.  Dorothy  ran  to  meet 
her. 

"Morning,  Dorothy,"  was  her  greeting.  " How's  your 
folks  ?  " 

While  speaking  she  pushed  a  long,  figured,  black-lace 
veil  to  one  side  of  her  black-silk  bonnet,  which  was 
Quaker-shaped,  lined  with  dove-colored  silk,  slightly 
wadded,  and  tied  under  her  chin  by  ribbon  of  the  same 
shade. 

She  uncovered  a  strong,  thoughtful  face,  firm  mouth, 
gray  eyes,  and  soft,  light-brown  hair  combed  carefully 
smooth. 

"  Our  folks  are  well,  Mis'  Lane.  Come  in,  'Lisbeth's 
here." 

Mrs.  Lane  looked  gently  down  on  the  younger  girl, 
then  up  to  the  smiling  elder  one. 

"  Why,  'Lisbeth !     You  to  home  ?  " 


A  Daughter  of  New  Hampshire  Hills  7 

"  Yes ;  do  come  in." 

"  There  !  I  must  for  a  minit ;  but  don't  ask  me  to  stay, 
for  I  can't,  nohow.  I'm  going  to  see  if  Mis'  King  will 
swap  some  yarn  with  me." 

Dorothy  ran  before  them  through  front  door  and  entry 
into  the  east  room,  where  Grandmother  Wilson  sat  in 
a  high,  handmade  rocker,  painted  black,  with  gilt  lines,  a 
gilt  cobweb  pattern  on  its  crescent-shaped  top.  A  snuff- 
box and  some  knitting  lay  on  her  apron  while  she  read. 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  an  open  Bible,  and  pushed 
a  pair  of  glasses  above  her  cap-border  as  Mrs.  Lane 
entered. 

She  was  a  large,  imperious  woman,  with  black  eyes, 
sharp  nose,  strong  chin.  A  stiff,  double-quilled  cap-frill 
close  about  her  face  bristled  with  authority.  One 
quickly  saw  there  could  be  no  compromise  with  that 
cap-border.  But  she  was  a  noble  and  fitting  picture  in 
that  quaint  room,  with  white  curtains  drawn  aside  from 
small-paned  windows;  a  tall  clock  in  one  corner,  a 
dreamy  fire  in  the  -wide  fireplace,  a  mahogany  table 
between  the  south  windows ;  chairs  standing  here  and 
there  upon  the  shining  yellow  floor ;  and  a  braided  mat, 
bright  with  color,  before  the  brick  hearth  and  polished 
andirons. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  cheerfully  inquired  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  Kinder  middlin',  Mis'  Lane.  Feel  the  spring  some. 
We'll  go  into  the  kitchen  'long  of  Thomas's  wife  an' 
Lettice." 


8  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

A  pale,  sweet-voiced  woman  rose  to  receive  them, 
laying  some  sewing  down  upon  a  round  red  table  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Why,  Mis'  Lane,  this  is  a  real  treat !  Take  a  chair  ; 
set  right  down.  I  know  you've  come  for  a  good  visit." 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I'm  going  down  to  Mis'  King's  of  an 
errant." 

"Oh,  set  down,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Wilson.  "It's  early. 
Stop  a  spell.  'Lisbeth,  take  Mis'  Lane's  things." 

Mrs.  Lane  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  Only  nine  —  'tis  early.  I  guess  I'll  stay  an  hour  or 
so." 

She  gave  her  things  to  'Lisbeth,  sat  down,  and  took 
some  knitting  from  a  wicker  basket,  casting  a  look  of 
neighborly  approval  round  the  neat  kitchen.  It  went 
the  length  of  the  house,  except  entry,  cellarway,  and 
pantry  at  one  end,  and  a  small  bedroom  at  the  other. 

Doors  from  fore-room  and  east  room  opened  into  it, 
and  a  fireplace  occupied  half  the  south  wall,  and  heavy 
brands  flamed  between  its  great  andirons.  Above  them, 
on  a  crane  among  hooks  and  links,  an  iron  teakettle 
lazily  gurgled;  and  over  the  fireplace  earthen  milk- 
pans,  candlesticks,  and  snuffers  sat  on  the  high  mantle- 
tree.  The  oven  and  jack-table  were  on  one  side  of  it, 
a  stone  hearth  for  waiting  backlog  and  forestick  on  the 
other.  A  dark-blue  dresser,  prettily  chamfered,  and 
painted  Indian  red  behind  the  shelves,  made  the  west 
wall;  and  its  broad  shelf  over  cupboards  held  pewter- 


A  Daughter  of  New  Hampshire  Hills  9 

ware.  On  higher  and  narrower  ones  clustered  cups  and 
saucers  ;  bowls  and  dishes  of  old  blue  china  sat  before 
standing  lines  of  platters  and  plates ;  and  on  the  highest 
of  all  perched  sugar-loaves,  each  sheathed  in  blue  paper, 
some  bottles  containing  ox-gall,  medicamentum,  aloes, 
balm  of  gilead,  and  other  simple  medicines  steeped  from 
roots  and  herbs,  combined  with  "rum  enough  to  keep 
'em." 

The  dusky  north  wall  was  carpentered  out  of  matched 
pine  boards.  It  was  broken  by  two  windows  looking  on 
the  orchard,  and  decked  with  yarn  reels,  an  extra  wheel 
head  or  two,  some  wheel  fingers,  a  distaff  and  fliers,  sev- 
eral pairs  of  cards,  traces  of  seed-corn,  and  a  dark-yel- 
low pumpkin-shell  full  of  garden-seeds. 

The  well-room  door  opened  by  the  pantry. 

"  Where's  Lettice  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Lane,  after  a  few 
general  remarks. 

"  In  the  butt'ry  ;  she's  baking  this  morning."  Just 
then  that  handmaiden  appeared. 

"  Oh !  it's  Mis'  Lane,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  can't  stop 
tew  speak.  I'm  afraid  my  things  is  browned  tew  much 
a'ready.  Mr.  Ward,  he's  comin'  out  tew  visit  mem- 
bers to-morrer,  —  can't  see  what  he  takes  sech  awful 
dewin'  for ;  but  I  'spect  it's  ole  Mis'  Moses,  they  hain't 
looked  for  her  tew  Avinter,  —  an  if  he  lives  tew  get 
here,  we  lay  out  he'll  have  a  good  dinner,  if  I  dew 
say  it." 

All  the  while  she  drew  from  the  oven,  with  a  great 


10  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

long-handled  shovel,  baking-pans  full  of  dainty  brown 
tarts  and  caraway  cookies. 

Then  she  squinted  hard  at  the  clock  and  spoke  to 
Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  These   punkin  pies  air   about    the    right  color,  — 
they've  been  in  a  good  hour." 

Mrs.  Wilson  nodded ;  and  she  slid  them,  brownish- 
yellow  and  delicious,  from  shovel  to  jack-table. 

They  visited  for  an  hour,  asking  after  neighbors,  con- 
sidering lathes,  reeds,  harnesses,  and  other  loom-gear, 
the  fineness  of  linen  warp  and  filling  for  different  cloths, 
the  stores  of  woven  goods,  and  so  on,  and  ended  by  ex- 
amining 'Lisbeth' s  new  dove-colored  bombazine  dress. 

"  For  the  'Cademy  exhibition,"  Lettice  remarked. 

"  It's  real  soft  and  and  nice,  I'm  sure,  an'  'twill  be 
becomin',"  confidently  asserted  Mrs.  Lane,  adding, 
"  there !  I  should  like  to  stay  all  day,  but  I  must  do 
that  errand  to  Mis'  King's;  and  I  don't  know  when 
Loizy  or  I  can  get  out  of  our  house  again  —  spring 
work  is  coming  on  so." 


Which  May  be  Skipped  11 


WHICH    MAY    BE    SKIPPED 

BEFORE  Mrs.  Lane  could  roll  up  her  knitting  and  rise 
from  her  chair  the  well-room  door  opened,  admitting  a 
man,  tall,  firmly  knit,  whose  keen  gray  eyes  lighted  a 
smooth  firm  face,  every  line  of  which  betokened  intel- 
ligence, self-reliance,  authority. 

He  was  Thomas  Wilson,  'Lisbeth's  father,  of  direct 
Puritan  blood  and  creed.  He  inherited  himself,  so  to 
speak,  and  rejoiced  in  flawless  heirship  to  that  temporal 
and  spiritual  dominion  which  belonged  to  his  race. 

As  his  lights  revealed  justice  and  truth  to  him,  so  he 
illustrated  them.  According  to  ministerial  parlance  he 
was  "  an  exemplary  man." 

A  quick  smile  revealed  an  unexpected  gentleness  as 
he  spoke : — 

"  Mornin',  Mis'  Lane ;  I've  just  sent  one  of  the  boys 
up  to  your  house  after  a  ploughnose." 

(t  Dear  me !  I  don't  know  what  men  folks  are  made 
of.  If  I've  spoke  of  that  once,  I  have  a  dozen  times. 
Only  t'other  day  I  saw  it  in  the  arm  of  a  brace,  in  our 
shed  ;  and  I  says  to  Mr.  Lane,  says  I,  '  It's  most  time 
for  spring  ploughing,  and  you  better  send  that  nose 
home.' " 


12  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  'Taint  no  matter,  Mis'  Lane ;  we  borrered  his  harrer 
last  fall  when  we  seeded  the  ridge  to  clover,  an'  it's  in 
our  shed  chamber  now.  Mother,"  he  added,  turning  to 
his  wife,  "  I've  been  pickin'  rocks,  and  runnin'  roun' 
'bout  fencin',  an'  pacin'  off  a  potater  field,  till  I'm  gaunt 
as  a  greyhoun'." 

"  Lettice,"  called  his  wife. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  c'ame  from  the  pantry. 

"  Father  wants  a  bite,  and  we'll  all  take  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  soon's  my  bread's  in." 

Lettice  was  a  plain,  middle-aged  woman  of  medium 
height  and  quite  spare.  Kindliness  was  inscribed  on 
her  face,  and  sparkled  in  her  blue  eyes.  An  abundance 
of  flaxen  hair  was  coiled  high  by  a  large  horn  comb. 
She  came  to  the  Wilsons'  when  'Lisbeth  was  a  baby,  for 
"  two  an'  thrippence  "  a  week,  which  slowly  increased 
to  "three  an'  six,"  and  finally  she  earned  the  large 
sum  of  "  five  an'  six."  Though  unrelated,  she  still  was 
one  of  the  family,  even  to  the  extent  of  giving  it  "a 
piece  of  her  mind,"  if  necessary,  but  she  never  meddled. 

Devoted  to  each  one  of  the  household,  yet  'Lisbeth, 
the  baby  whose  dewy  breath  had  been  to  her  parched 
heart  like  rain  to  thirsting  blooms,  'Lisbeth,  the  loving 
child  whom  she  had  kept  warm  and  without  fear  through 
bitter  nights  when  winds  roared  and  wailed  down  the 
chimney,  'Lisbeth,  the  beautiful  girl  whose  kindness 
never  failed,  was  the  one  love  of  her  life. 

An  earthen  teapot,  simmering  on  live  embers  between 


Which  May  be  Skipped  13 

the  andirons,  soon  sent  through  its  nozzle  the  tempting 
odor  of  green  tea. 

"  What's  the  news  ?  "  asked  the  farmer. 

"  Naborin' "  was  simply  an  early  kind  of  newspaper ; 
so,   while  Lettice  brought  Indian   bread,  cold  meat,  a 
plateful  of  cookies,  —  "I  hope  they're  good,"  she  said, 
"  I    made   'em  outen  bonny-clapper  cream   an'  all,"  - 
filled  the  teacups,  and  passed  the  sugar,  he  inquired,  — 

"  What's  the  news  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  skurcely,"  she  answered  ;  "  win- 
ter's gone.  That  is  good  news." 

"  The  swallows  are  here,"  added  'Lisbeth. 

"Are  they?  Yes,  Mis'  Wilson,  I  don't  care  if  I  do 
take  another  cup.  This  tea  is  well  tasting  —  very." 

"  Has  Mr.  Lane  sprouted  his  seed  potatoes  yet  ? " 
inquired  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  No ;  we're  kinder  behindhand." 

So  they  conversed  of  farming  awhile,  till  she  raised 
her  cup  for  a  final  sip.  She  set  it  down,  saying,  — 

"  I  'most  forgot.  Reuben  Brown's  folks  have  took 
Jake  Welch  till  he's  twenty-one." 

"  Bound  to  'em  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.  Mis'  Oliver  Brown  run  down  to  swap  some 
onion  for  some  beet-seed,  —  we  agreed  to,  she  and  I,  last 
fall,  —  and  she  told  us.  They're  to  give  him  eight  weeks' 
schooling  a  year,  a  suit  of  boughten  clothes  and  one  of 
homemade,  and  fifteen  dollars  when  his  time's  out." 

"  He's  a  poor  stick  —  must  be,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 


14  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  I  dunno,"  Lettice  remarked,  peering  over  her 
"  specs."  "  I  dunno.  Even  firewood  ain't  all  knots,  ner 
red  oak.  Some  ont's  cleft/ maple.  1  hain't  no  doubt 
he's  a  whifflin',  meachin'  critter,  for  he's  been  kicked 
an'  cuffed  an'  stomped  on  'nuff  tew  kill ;  nex'  place,  he's 
kinder  born  so." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  guest ;  "  as  I  was  saying  to  Mr. 
Lane,  when  we  was  speaking  of  it,  says  I,  <  Some  are 
born  one  way  and  some  another.'  " 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Brown  will  get  his  money's  wuth,"  dryly 
commented  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  I  guess  he  will,"  assented  Mrs.  Lane  ;  "  but  see,  it's 
past  ten.  'Lisbeth,  do  bring  my  bonnet." 

'Lisbeth  did  so,  and  helped  her  on  with  the  long 'black 
camlet  cloak  lined  with  deep  red.  She  wore  a  dress  of 
unevenly  checked  black-and-white  flannel ;  and,  like  the 
character  of  its  owner  and  manufacturer,  it  was  war- 
ranted to  wear  and  wash ;  for  God  made  the  tint  and 
texture  of  both.  One  came  from  fleeces  of  black  and 
white  sheep,  and  was  woven  with  her  own  hands,  close 
by  sweet-smelling  herbs ;  the  other  took  shade  and  sub- 
stance and  wearing-force  from  spiritual  causes.  It  was 
fashioned  in  heavenly  looms,  and  fashionable  in  heavenly 
places. 

Mr.  Wilson  and  Mrs.  Lane  were  a  typical  man  and 
woman.  They  were  neighborhood  advisers  and  directors. 
He  was  of  Puritan  descent,  she  of  Londonderry  stock, 
and  both  descendants  of  New  Hampshire  pioneers. 


Which  May  be  Skipped  15 

Belknap  says,  "  New  Hampshire  may  be  considered 
the  school  of  stern  heroism."  The  sons  of  its  settlers 
were  a  dominant  race,  born  to  rule  as  the  sparks  to  fly 
upward.  They  carried  sovereignty  in  their  bearing. 

Exposure,  toil,  fatigue,  coarse  food,  and  couches  of 
leaves  under  primeval  pines,  had  developed  a  breed  of 
men  "strong  as  moose,  of  commanding  presence  and 
even  nerve.  They  had  driven  out  the  Indian;  felled  the 
forests,  and  owned  the  land.  They  were  quiet,  genial, 
neighborly.  So,  also,  they  were  firm  as  rocks,  flinty  in 
spots,  yet  possessing  oftentimes  a  rare  humor,  and  peace- 
ful, except  on  three  subjects,  —  religion,  schools,  and  poli- 
tics. The  granite  of  their  nature  always  appeared,  but 
delicate  mental  bluebells  filing  their  swinging  cups  on 
many  a  rough  ledge  of  character.  They  agreed  with  the 
Athenian  that  "  the  loss  the  commonwealth  would  suffer 
by  lack  of  education  is  like  that  the  year  would  sustain 
by  the  destruction  of  the  spring." 

"  Grand  jurors  were  sworn  and  charged  to  present  all 
breaches  of  law,  the  want  of  public  schools  in  particu- 
lar." Insistence  respecting  education  as  the  handmaid 
of  liberty  created  great  desire  for  practical  knowledge. 
Unschooled  men  learned  much  from  town  meetings, 
raisings,  musters,  or  those  more  informal  gatherings 
where,  sitting  on  nail-kegs  in  stores,  they  absorbed  the 
ideas  of  their  minister,  doctor,  and  squire.  The  neigh- 
bor who  took  a  paper  gladly  lent  it ;  and  the  borrower 
carefully  put  it  "  behind  the  clock  "  between  readings, 


16  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

and  conscientiously  returned  it.  Important  speeches  of 
public  men  were  then  printed  entire,  and  discussed  over 
hoe-handles  at  the  end  of  rows,  as  men  rested  to  take 
deep  draughts  of  ginger  and  water  in  mowing-fields,  in 
shed  and  kitchen  on  rainy  days,  and  summer  eves  as 
they  sat  on  the  dooryard  grass.  Each  neighborhood 
followed  its  superior  men  and  women. 

Mrs.  Lane  had  kept  school,  and  used  the  final  g  and  d 
of  words,  said  to-morrow  instead  of  "  to-morrer,"  and 
had  so  brought  up  "  Loizy  "  and  the  boys.  Mr.  Wilson 
had  ciphered  through  the  arithmetic,  read  well,  and 
knew  New  Hampshire  history  by  heart.  Their  gram- 
mar was  not  above  suspicion,  but  their  wisdom  led  the 
district. 

One  institution  underlaid  all  else,  —  the  church  of  the 
Pilgrim  and  Puritan.  The  last,  extremest  loyalty  of 
every  soul  was  given  to  it.  Its  ministry  was  educated. 
Most  sermons  were  controversial.  Men  of  every  degree 
were  polemics.  Upon  the  altars  of  an  inflexible  creed 
they  made  daily  offerings  of  themselves  and  their  fami- 
lies. They  believed  themselves  foreordained  to  plant 
that  very  doctrine  by  every  river  and  on  every  hill. 
Any  other  sort  of  men  would  have  failed,  and  both 
civilization  and  Christianity  gone  with  them.  They 
dealt  severely  with  what  was  termed  heterodoxy ;  but 
a  bent  bow  must  straighten,  though  the  arrow  fly 
amiss. 

Let  those  who  rejoice  in  a  loving  kingdom  of  Chris- 


Which  May  be  Skipped  17 

tianity  lay  white  lilies  above  where  those  chosen  and 
illustrious  soldiers  sleep,  for  they  were  knightly  war- 
riors in  the  armies  of  the  Most  High.  Those  habits  of 
mind  would  surely  lead  to  examination  of  a  new  creed 
which  had  appeared  at  the  time  of  our  story.  At  first 
it  was  the  far  echo  of  saintly  Jesse  Lee,  then  the  near 
call  of  the  apostolic  Hedding,  followed  by  circuit-riders 
preaching  in  barns,  courthouses,  fields,  or  wherever  pos- 
sible. Their  sermons  defied  the  regular  teaching.  "  Free 
grace,  free  will,  full  salvation,  present  witness "  were 
taught  with  unction.  If  their  code  warred  against  exist- 
ing dogmas,  their  manner  of  service  offended,  as  destroy- 
ing the  prim  solemnity  of  the  meeting-house.  Above 
all,  they  allowed  women  to-"  speak  in  meetin'." 

Congregationalism  regarded  the  new  sect  as  unscrip- 
tural.  It  felt  the  invasion  of  an  enemy,  and  was  sore 
troubled,  not  knowing  that  perchance  the  Master  him- 
self was  lopping  branches,  so  that  he  might  graft  that 
sturdy  vine  with  shoots  for  a  diviner  fruitage. 

In  such  an  unpropitious  day,  John  Mayhew  and 
'Lisbeth  Wilson  lived  and  loved  —  she,  daughter  of  a 
man  who  was  straitest  of  his  sect,  who  clung  to  all  its 
traditions,  faith,  and  hereditaments ;  he,  son  to  one 
who  held  a  tenderer  faith,  and  taught  it  to  his  boy. 
"When  John  was  eight  years  old  both  parents  were 
dead,  since  when  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Lane,  had  mothered 
him.  She  used  half  his  patrimony  for  college  expenses. 
He  had  graduated  from  Hanover,  and  was  a  student 


18  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

in  Squire  Baker's  law-office  at  Plymouth,  and  the  squire 
was  Mrs.  Wilson's  brother. 

The  excellent  manhood  of  his  father,  the  graciousness 
of  his  mother,  blent  in  young  May  hew ;  yet  he  was 
under  a  cloud  to  Mr.  Wilson,  for,  though  he  regularly 
attended  the  village  church  and  held  no  controversy 
with  any,  he  was  baptized  a  Methodist,  and  through 
this  complication  the  little  community  felt  all  a-quiver, 
as  on  the  verge  and  imminence  of  social  outbreak. 


CHAPTER   III 

MRS.    LANE    VISITS    AT    THE    KINGS' 

MRS.  LANE  went  briskly  by  the  little  barn,  down  the 
steep  hill  to  its  foot,  thence  some  rods  along  a  descend- 
ing road,  and  turned  sharply  to  the  right  through  a 
pair  of  bars,  into  a  field.  The  forest  crossed  the  road 
below  the  bars,  and  skirted  the  field  she  entered. 

She  followed  a  wagon  track  towards  a  house  not  far 
from  the  road.  It  looked  homely,  handy,  and  sunshiny, 
but  was  a  queer  clump  of  carpentry,  and  Mrs.  Lane 
smiled  in  a  neighborly  way  at  the  bunch  of  boards  and 
windows ;  an  old  part  squatting  one  story  high  on  top 
of  a  ridge,  a  new  one  dropping  down  its  side  another 
story.  The  old  part  was  covered  by  matched  pine 


Mrs.  Lane  Visits  at  the  Kings  '  19 

boards,  black,  except  for  patches  of  lichens,  twisted 
by  storms  and  warped  by  heat,  yet  still  doing  duty 
very  well.  It  held  off  resentfully  from  the  new  clap- 
boarded  part,  which  had  a  door  of  its  own  close  to  the 
south  corner,  and  a  stone  rolled  into  place  for  a  doorstep. 

Geese  squawked  and  waddled  in  a  muddy  pool  where 
spring  water  bubbled  over  from  a  moss-patched  trough 
a  few  feet  from  the  threshold.  A  shed  with  a  long 
cleft  in  its  side  filled  with  beehives  hung  to  one  corner 
of  the  house ;  but  the  barn  had  strayed  off  over  the 
ridge,  only  its  roof  being  visible. 

She  had  scarcely  passed  the  bars  when  a  brindled 
dog  barked  loudly  and  ran  toward  her.  A  woman's 
figure  quickly  filled  the  doorway,  and  a  shrill  voice 
called,  — 

"  Bose,  come  back  here  !  "  but  he  never  looked  round. 

"  Come  back,  you  plaguey  dog." 

No.  He  knew  a  dog's  duty,  and  was  not  to  be  brow- 
beaten ;  so  he  tore  along  till  close  to  her,  when  he  sud- 
denly stopped,  went  to  one  side  and  examined  a  weed. 
Having  smelt  entirely  up  and  down  it,  he  trotted  to 
Mrs.  Lane,  perfectly  delighted  to  see  her,  and  looked 
up  cheerily,  as  saying,  "  Where  in  the  world  were  you 
when  I  came  out  to  observe  that  old  mullein  stalk." 

The  woman  in  the  doorway,  sixty  years  old,  tall  and 
sinewy,  waited  to  welcome  her.  One  bare  arm  was 
lifted,  shading  her  light-blue  eyes.  Her  roundish  face 
was  strong,  but  the  nose  was  delicate,  and  there  were 


20  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

tender  lines  across  the  forehead.  A  descendant  of  set- 
tlers, she  was,  like  them,  industrious,  kind,  and  true. 
Going  to  school  through  deep  snows  charmed  her  but 
little;  and  when  David  King,  sprung  from  a  race  of 
hunters  who  loved  the  woods  more  than  growing  crops, 
and  wild  life  than  lowing  herds,  strayed  many  times 
into  her  father's  kitchen,  he  was  more  to  her  than  any 
neighbor's  son  who  could  cipher  through  the  "Rule  of 
Three." 

Finally  he  married  the  comely  girl  whose  family 
liked  his  dogs  and  rods  and  guns.  Therefore  Nabby 
King  was  waiting  her  trim  visitor,  who  called,— 

"Morning,  Mis'  King." 

"  Good  land !  If  'tain't  Mis'  Lane  !  Come  in,  do.  I'm 
glad  you've  thawed  out.  You're  goin'  tew  stop." 

"  I  laid  out  to,  if  you  ain't  busy." 

"  Busy,"  said  the  dame,  "  I  guess  not,  when  we've 
been  jest  hankerin'  fur  tew  see  somebody  outen  the 
house.  I  want  tew  neighbor  a  mite.  Take  off  your 
things  an'  set  down.  Come  round  the  road  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Stop  at  the  Wilsons'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an  hour  or  so,  why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothin'.  Mrs.  Harmon  was  up  here  yester- 
day." 

"Phil  better  keep  his  side  of  the  hedge,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Lane. 

"Why,   you've  got   a   new  bunnit,"    said   the    dame 


Mrs.  Lane  Visits  at  the  Kings '  21 

evasively,  turning  it  round  admiringly  on  one  hand  and 
smoothing  its  soft  strings,  then  added,  — 

"  Here,  Marthy,  take  Mis'  Lane's  things,  an'  lay  'em 
careful  in  my  room." 

"  How's  Mr.'  King  ?  "  inquired  the  visitor. 

"  Lordy  !  well,  I  guess.  He's  traipsin'  roun'  some- 
whares,  him  an'  the  dogs.  I  wanted  a  leech  tub  set  up, 
an'  the  ash  oven  cleared,  an'  the  taters  brought  up  an' 
sprouted,  an'  nex'  thing  I  see  he  was  divin'  intew  the 
woods  yender." 

Mrs.  King  pulled  a  rocker  up  to  the  smouldering  fire. 

"There  now,"  said  she,  beating  a  bright  covered 
cushion,  and  throwng  it  into  the  chair,  "  set  down  and 
rest  ye.  You've  yot  your  knittin',  and  I'll  take  mine." 

While  speaking  she  drew  her  own  chair  into  the 
opposite  corner  and  sat  down. 

The  room  was  long,  with  the  dame's  room  and  pantry 
at  the  end.  Solid  masonry  made  the  wall  next  the  old 
part,  broken  by  fireplace,  oven,  and  doors  leading  up- 
stairs, and  into  Mr.  King's  cidery  cellar.  Above  the 
fireplace,  on  small  spikes  driven  into  mortar  between 
the  bricks,  hung  iron  candlesticks,  and  near  them  an 
inch  wide  strap  was  looped  by  nails,  a  clay  pipe  depend- 
ing from  each  loop.  Between  the  cellar  door  and  bare- 
studded  end  the  wall  was  decked  with  gourds.  Some 
used  for  drinking-cups  were  small,  and  the  hue  of  ripe 
oranges,  with  delicately  curved  handles.  Others  were 
large  for  household  service;  and  some  were  mended, 


22  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

being  pierced  with  an  awl  and  threaded  with  tow  string. 
Two  windows  looked  southerly,  and  a  curious  clock  tick- 
tocked  in  the  corner  by  Mrs.  King's  room.  Above  the 
dial  was  a  dome-shaped  arch,  central  in  which  a  figure 
of  Time,  clad  in  long  red  tunic  over  white  Turkish 
trousers,  walked  barefooted  through  the  snow,  his  glis- 
tening hair  streaming  out  behind  as  in  a  February  gale. 

Bundles  of  dried  herbs  and  roots  hung  from  the  rich 
red  beams  overhead,  and  they  were  an  armory  as  well. 
Guns  that  had  descended  from  sire  to  son  since  the 
palefaces  first  peered  into  those  warm  valleys,  guns 
whose  old  flint  locks  struck  fire  at  Bunker  Hill,  at 
Valley  Forge,  at  Yorktown,  with  splintered  stocks  and 
bent  barrels,  reposed  on  stout  brackets  beside  those  still 
carried  on  the  hardy  shoulders  of  David  King. 

After  opening  their  work  Mrs.  King  asked,  "  How's 
yer  man  an'  Loizy  an'  the  boys  ?  " 

"  They're  well  as  can  be.  I  hear  your  wheels  hum- 
ming up-stairs." 

"  Yes  ;  we're  kinder  late,  an'  it's  'most  shearin'  time 
agin." 

"  Speaking  of  wool,"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  "  makes  me 
think,  —  I  wonder  how  you're  on't  for  coarse  white 
yarn." 

"  I  dunno ;  'pends  on  how  coarse  you  want." 

"  Fact  is,  Mis'  King,  we've  got  five  skeins  of  blue  left 
from  our  frocking.  Loizy  don't  know  how  it  happened, 
nor  I  don't,  but  there  'tis.  We  spun  from  good  wool, 


Mrs.  Lane  Visits  at  the  Kings'  23 

fine  as  I  practise  putting  into  frocking,"  said  she,  pass- 
ing the  yarn.  Mrs.  King  thrust  a  knitting-needle  through 
her  knotted  hair,  and  gravely  examined  it. 

"It's  nice  yarn,  Mis'  Lane.  You  can  see  what 
I've  got  on  hand,"  bringing  a  bundle  from  near  the 
window. 

"  Are  you  going  to  make  full  cloth  this  year,  Mis' 
King  ?  " 

"  Dunno  as  I  shall  make  nothin',"  said  the  dame. 
"  Mis'  Field,  she  borrered  my  tew  and  thirty  reed  an'  a 
harness  ever  so  long  ago,  an'  t'other  day  she  sent  for  my 
warpin'-bars.  I  sha'n't  have  a  thing  left  tew  dew  with, 
time  I'm  ready  tew  weave." 

"  They  are  curious  people,"  observed  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  Gurus  ?     I  guess  so.     The  old  woman's  a  witch." 

"  Pshaw  ! "  said  Mrs.  Lane,  "  'tain't  likely." 

]S"abby  King  was  superstitious,  as  were  many  others 
round  about,  and  she  replied,  — 

"  But,  Mis'  Lane,  you  know  it,  an'  her  mother  afore 
her ;  an'  jest  tew  see  the  childern  makes  me  crawl. 
They've  tumbled  offen  high  beams,  an'  been  run  over, 
an'  froze,  an'  sunstruck.  On'y  think  of  it ! " 

"  Xobody  takes  care  of  them,  Mis'  King  ;  their  woman- 
folks  spend  their  time  carrying  news,  and  the  men  are 
always  to  the  tavern.  I  wish  you  had  your  warping- 
bars  ;  but  as  to  swapping  yarn." 

"  Good  land  !  I'd  forgot.  David  needs  extry  feetin' 
for  bis  moccasins,  an'  I  hain't  time  tew  fuss  'n  color.  I'm 


24  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

real  glad  to  swap,  so  pick  out  the  white,  an'  I'll  slip  the 
blue  into  its  place.  I  must  call  them  gals.  It's  high 
time  tew  git  dinner." 

Immediately  the  drowsy  whir  of  wheels  stopped,  and 
three  well-grown,  wholesome-looking  girls  ran  smilingly 
in,  each  dropping  a  little  courtesy. 

"You're  busy  now  school  is  done,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Lane. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Pretty  good  master,  so  our  boys  thought ;  let's  see, 
he  boarded  here." 

Mary,  the  eldest,  grew  scarlet. 

"  He's  good  'nuff,  nothin'  extry,"  said  Martha,  which 
meant  that  he  had  been  "  real  partial  "  to  Mary,  leaving 
the  younger  sisters  to  plod  home  alone. 

The  girls  tittered ;  but  Mary  hid  her  vexation  after  a 
womanly  fashion  by  taking  some  sewing  from  a  little 
table  beside  the  clock,  and  sitting  down  to  visit  with 
Mrs.  Lane.  They  talked  in  undertones  while  Mrs. 
King  gave  dinner  orders. 

"  Lucy,  come,  you  rake  the  coals  forrard,  an'  stir  up 
the  backlog,  an'  put  a  rock-maple  knot  on  while  I'm 
dressin'  our  last  spe'rib ;  Martha  may  throw  a  Johnny- 
cake  together,  an'  I'll  make  some  twisted  doughnuts  tew 
eat  with  our  new  maple  m'lasses." 

The  spit  was  soon  inside  the  fireplace  arch,  burdened 
with  its  toothsome  weight.  The  upper  part  of  it  was  a 
a  light  chain  that  kept  the  roast  constantly  turning. 


Mrs.  Lane  Visits  at  the  Kings '  25 

Martha  put  the  tin  oven,  like  a  little  two-shelved  open 
cupboard  on  short  legs,  before  the  fire,  and  Mrs.  King 
went  to  and  fro  from  pantry  to  a  great  iron  basin  hung 
on  a  crane  hook,  joining  in  conversation  when  she 
could.  After  a  while  they  spoke  of  'Lisbeth's  fine 
needlework. 

"  She  stitched  the  beautifullest  linen  bosoms  for  the 
minister,"  said  Mary  ;  "  never  drawed  a  thread  nor  noth- 
in',  an'  the  gown  she  hemstitched  for  the  Square's  gal 
was  that  pritty  I  skurcely  dast  touch  it." 

"  I  see  them  bosoms,"  came  a  voice  from  the  pantry, 
"an'  the  stichin'  couldn't  a  been  no  straighter  if  she'd 
pulled  every  thread  out." 

None  noticed  the  decidedly  ambiguous  statement  as 
to  threads,  and  the  subject  changed  to  flowers  and  gar- 
dens. Mary  took  down  a  gourd  full  of  dried  blooms 
and  gave  Mrs.  Lane  some  marigold  and  bachelor's  button 
seeds.  "  I'll  sit  down  while  the  gals  fix  the  table,"  said 
the  dame.  "  I  dunno  what  is  goin'  tew  be  done.  The 
gals  need  new  dresses." 

Mrs.  Lane  saw  the  point  at  once. 
"  If  you  want  Loizy  a  day  or  so,  she  can  come." 
"  I  should  be  dretful  glad.     I'll  spin  for  her." 
"  Don't  say  a  word,"  answered  Mrs.  Lane ;   "  you're 
welcome.     Have  you  whitened  your  linen  yet  ?  " 
"No;  I'm  waitin'  for  the  apples  tew  blow." 
They  talked  of  maple  sugar  and  swarming  bees,  while 
the    girls   put  deep  blue  plates,  dishes  of   butter,  and 


26  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

cheese  upon  the  table,  which  was  covered  with  a  snowy 
cloth. 

"  I  wonder  where  David  is,"  fretted  the  dame,  as  she 
took  the  spicy  roast  from  the  spit.  As  if  replying, 
there  was  a  scurrying  over  the  ridge,  an  eager  scratch- 
ing at  the  door,  and  a  man,  followed  by  two  hounds, 
pushed  in. 

"Hello,  mother;  I'm  st"- 

"  Well,  David  King,  you've  come,  hain't  ye  ?  Don't 
•bust  in  tew  compn'y  like  that." 

He  was  shamefaced  a  moment  at  blundering  in  upon 
a  guest ;  then  with  rustic  air  and  quaint  smile  he  shook 
hands,  saying,  — 

"  I  vow  if  'tain't  you.  I'm  s'prised.  How's  yer  man, 
an'  the  boys,  an'  Loizy  ?  " 

"  They're  well  as  common,  so  be  you,  I  guess." 

"  Not  much  I  ain't.  I'm  all  fagged  out  f er  nothin' ; 
'sides,  I  could  e'enamost  eat  an  owl,  an'  I'm  dryer'n  a 
piece  of  last  year's  moose-meat." 

"  Been  hunting,  I  guess." 

"  Yes ;  but  it's  soft  underfoot,  an'  there's  nothin'  roun' 
'cept  chipmunks  an'  foxes ;  no  critter  wuth  shootin' 
never,  no  time,  any  more." 

No  Puritan  blood  ran  in  the  King's  veins ;  yet  he  was 
as  shrewd  and  valiant  as  they,  a  good  story-teller,  fond 
of  company,  never  meddlesome,  but  speaking  his  mind  if 
any  traversed  his  code  of  right,  humble  and  reverent  in 
his  way.  Tradition  claimed  his  ancestry  as  part  patri- 


Mrs.   Lane  Visits  at  the  Kings '  27 

cian,  traceable  to  French  seigneurs  who  had  feasted  and 
fought  in  Canada,  from  whence  his  father  came ;  but  he 
cared  no  more  for  ancestry  than  for  the  husks  that  lit- 
tered his  last  year's  cornfield,  though  underneath  the 
hunter's  garb  and  wildwood  air  the  embers  of  romantic 
fire,  that  had  burned  quick  and  high  in  all  his  father's 
race,  still  glowed. 

He  kept  his .  hounds,  his  guns,  his  powder  flasks,  his 
fishing-rods  and  pickerel  spears.  He  went  at  will, 
tracking  coons  through  ripening  cornfields,  thick  grass, 
or  heavy  wheat.  Where  he  listed  to  go  with  his  dogs 
he  went,  hence  his  nickname,  the  "  King,"  or  "  King 
David." 

He  stood  quite  six  feet  high,  stooped  a  little,  was 
large,  iron-nerved,  showing,  in  stern  lines  around  his 
mouth,  a  force  and  will  belied  by  merry  black  eyes  and 
round  full  face.  His  complexion  was  a  deep  rose  shade 
—  the  color  of  red  apples  had  been  carried  to  it  through 
the  medium  of  hard  cider,  some  of  it  very  hard  indeed. 
He  showed  no  more  interest  in  Dame  King's  delicious 
dinner  than  if  it  had  been  bread  and  milk.  Pushing 
back  from  the  table  he  whistled,  and  the  dogs  rushed  up. 

"Oho!  "he  said.  "Hungry?  Want  these  bones? 
Then  set  down."  They  fell  back  on  their  powerful 
haunches. 

David  King  knew  their  strain  for  a  hundred  years, 
tracing  back  to  famous  French  kennels^ 

Their  beautiful    heads   were   nearly  as  wide   at   the 


28  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

muzzle  as  the  crown.  Their  warm  black  eyes  were  soft 
and  meditative ;  over  each  was  a  golden  spot  no  larger 
than  a  wren's  egg.  Their  pendent  lips,  their  beautiful 
ears  that  drooped  to  their  strong  fore  shoulders,  the 
shining  coats  upon  their  backs,  were  black  as  night,  but 
warmed  by  a  tawny  color  underneath.  Their  breasts 
were  white,  flecked  like  ermine ;  and  the  rest  of  them 
yellowish  black  and  white,  as  were  their  cordy  legs  and 
feet  to  the  long  claws. 

The  King  teased  them  a  moment,  then  threw  the 
bones,  saying,  — 

"Lucy,  let  'em  out." 


CHAPTER   IV 

ONE  WORD  BROUGHT  ON  ANOTHER 

WHEN  the  door  shut  behind  the  dogs,  Mr.  King 
pulled  up  to  the  fire,  and  took  a  couple  of  pipes  down. 

"  Smoke  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  No,  thank'ee." 

He  filled  the  bowls,  tipped  a  coal  into  each,  gave  one 
to  his  wife,  and  settled  back  for  a  visit. 

Mr.  King  told  woodland  stories,  and  inquired  about 
spring  ploughing,  but  all  the  time  seemed  uneasy.  At 
last  he  said,  — 

"  Speakiu'   of  gals  an'  boys,  I'm  feared,  Mis'   Lane, 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Kings'  29 

there'll  be  trouble  up  tew  Wilson's  'fore  it's  done.  You 
know  why  Nabby  an'  me  are  worried.  'Tain't  no  mean 
streak  in  us." 

"  I  know."  There  was  a  quaver  of  fear  or  sorrow  in 
her  mellow  voice. 

"  Heerd  sunthin'  new  ?  "  inquired  the  dame. 

"  Xo  ;  didn't  need  tew,  mother.  There's  John,  true 
an'  soun'  as  bird's-eye  maple  ;  next  is  Wilson's  gal ;  the 
Lord  never  made  a  better  one  nor  pootier." 

Mrs.  King  laid  her  pipe  down,  saying,  "  David,  how 
old  be  ye  ?  " 

"  Sixty-one,  mother ;  an'  I  say  I've  been  into  every 
house  'tween  here  an'  Canady  line,  but  my  eyes  never  lit 
on  no  gal  like  'Lisbeth." 

"  I  guess  not,"  assented  Mrs.  Lane. 

"There'll  be  a  fuss,"  Mr.  King  continued.  "John 
don't  ble've  in  'lection,  so  Wilson  won't  let  him  marry 
'Lisbeth.  It's  my  'pinion  he'll  teach  the  ole  man  some 
p'ints  about  free  will." 

"Mr.  Wilson's  a  dumb  fool,"  asserted  his  wife. 

"Not  by  a  plaguey  sight.  I  a'most  wish  he  was," 
commented  Mr.  King,  knocking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe 
on  the  andiron;  "he's  on'y  jest  incouragin'  Phil  Har- 
mon 'cause  he  sticks  tew  the  doctrines." 

"  I'm  real  afraid  he  favors  the  Harmon  boy,"  said 
Mrs.  Lane. 

"  Favors  him  ?  I  guess  so ;  he's  jest  naggin'  'Lisbeth 
'bout  him.  If  folks  followed  the  laws  of  the  Almighty 


30  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

with  sech  a  keen  scent  as  they  dew  the  argyments  men 
make  up  'bout  'em,  they'd  tree  their  game  off'ner." 

"  Why,  David !  "  exclaimed  his  wife,  "  that's  dretful. 
You're  as  wicked  as  you  can  be." 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  he  emphatically ;  "  I  b'leve  nigh 
as  much  as  Wilson  does,  but  diff'runt.  What's  he 
lecterin'  John  on  the  decrees  for  ?  I  sh'd  as  soon  go 
pick'ril  fishin'  with  fife  and  drum.  How  old  is  John, 
Mis'  Lane  ?  " 

"  Twenty-four  last  November,  and  our  'Lisbeth's 
twenty  come  May." 

"  That's  so.  Born  May-day ;  cur'us  'miff  tew.  Seems 
like  foreordination  an'  sich,  hanged  if  it  don't." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  tenderly,  "  I've  thought  on't  a 
thousand  times ;  and  she's  sweet  and  pretty  as  May- 
flowers ever  was  or  ever  will  be.  Makes  me  think," 
she  went  on,  "Mr.  Wilson  was  to  our  house  Monday 
near  sundown.  We  was  speaking  of  old  times,  clearing 
farms  and  so  on,  finally  he  spoke,  or  I  did,  —  I  'most 
f orgit  how  'twas,  one  word  brought  on  another,  —  of  the 
May  hews,  and  then  he  inquired  all  about  them." 

"  He's  a  deep  one,"  said  Mr.  King,  throwing  one  loose 
leg  over  the  other,  "  a  deep  critter." 

"  Prying  round  'bout  John,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  'Course ;  but  I  never  heerd  the  rights  on't  sca'cely," 
said  Mr.  King. 

"  You  see,  'twas  this  way."  She  laid  the  knitting  down 
and  gazed  beyond  the  sodden  furrows  of  last  year's 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Kings'  31 

ploughing  to  the  restful  forest  of  dark  green  pines  that 
belted  the  far  field,  laid  a  forefinger  across  her  lips  a 
moment,  —  a  peculiar  custom  she  had,  —  and  quietly  told 
the  story.  "  His  father  was  morocco  dresser,  and  lived 
way  down  to  Boston.  Thirty  years  ago  next  summer, 
he  came  up  to  buy  hemlock  bark  for  his  father's  tan- 
vats.  .  He  come  to  our  house  and  stayed,  and  so  'twas 
the  next  year.  John's  exactly  like  his  father  in  looks 
and  actions ;  nobody  could  draw  two  lines  with  com- 
passes nearer  alike  than  them  two.  Lucy  was  my 
twin ;  'Lisbeth  always  makes  me  think  of  her,  some- 
how. Two  years  after  they  was  married,  when  the 
cherry  trees  was  full  of  blows,  and  lived  happy  as 
could  be,  he  bringing  her  home  every  year. 

'•  AVhen  John  was  eight  years  old  the  stage  threw 
off  a  letter  to  father's  door  one  day.  Mr.  May  hew 
was  sick,  and  I  went  right  down,  and  brought  them 
all  home.  He  didn't  live;  and  Lucy  died  soon  after 
him,  being  heart-broke,  then  John  was  all  we  had  left. 
His  father  left  money  enough  for  college,  and  a  little 
more.  That's  all." 

Mr.  King  paxised  at  the  door,  after  letting  the  dogs 
in,  before  asking,  — 

"  What  did  Mr.  Wilson  say  ?  " 

• 

"  Oh,  he  said  John  was  a  good  young  man,  pity  he 
was  a  Methodis',  an'  so  on.  Then  I  up  and  told  him 
there  was  more  of  them  in  Boston  than  wha^  we've 
got  here,  and  they  seemed  to  be  doing  well.  I  didn't 


32  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

see  how  folks  could  be  better  than  they  was;  says  I, 
( a  tree  is  known  by  its  fruit.'  I  told  him  plain  I  didn't 
lay  out  to  unteach  John,  —  I  couldn't  anyways,  —  nor 
let  anybody  else  do  it  neither.  He  went  home  pretty 
soon,  but  I  see  he  was  cross." 

"It's  a  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  King,  "'Lisbeth  ain't  the 
forwardest  gal  in  this  world  with  so  much  schoolin'  an' 
praisin'." 

"'Tain't  in  her  tew  be  forward,  Nabby,"  said  Mr. 
King ;  "  an'  her  father  'grees  tew  the  schoolin'.  When 
ye  wind  up  a  clock  it'll  go  well,  and  keep  at  it,  an'  it's 
so  with  the  mind.  Mr.  Wilson  has  been  windin'  and 
windin'  'Lisbeth's  mind,  or  lettin'  school  teachers  dew  it, 
till  it  goes  right  along.  Why,  one  day  I  ast  her  the 
name  of  a  book  she  was  readin',  an'  she  said  'twas  a 
history  of  "  —  a  comical  twinkle  crept  over  his  face  as 
he  pulled  a  hound's  long  ear,  —  "  she  said  'twas  —  I'll  be 
darned  if  it  don't  sound  queer,  come  tew  tell  it  —  a 
history  of  Greece." 

He  drove  his  hands  into  his  pockets  awaiting  Mrs. 
King's  stern  remark. 

"  Sounds  likely,  David,  that  she  spoke  sech  words  as 
them.  If  a  gal  with  brothers,  big  or  little,  has  tew  read 
'bout  that,  I'm  beat." 

Mr.  King  lounged  on  to  a  table  corner  with  the  dogs 
at  his  heels,  grimly  remarking,  — 

"  Hang  it,  mother,  she  larnt  'bout  some  fur  country 
anuther." 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Kings'  33 

"'Spect   it's   the    same  in   fur    countries   as    nigh  — 
where  there's  boys." 

"Well,  Nabby,  the  p'int  is,  'Lisbeth's  mind  bein' 
wound  up,  has  got  tew  run." 

"  For  the  land's  sake,  David,  let  it  run ;  but  when  it 
gits  tew  goin'  on  spinnin'  an'  weavin',  settin'  hens  an' 
pickin'  geese,  plannin'  spring  work,  an'  gettin'  ready  for 
winter,  she'll  be  better  off." 

"  Do  you  mean  married  to  Phil  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  I  dunno  ner  care,  somebody." 

"Tain't  my  'pinion,  ISTabby,"  her  husband  replied, 
pushing  the  hounds  under  the  table,  and  catching 
up  an  empty  gun  and  snapping  it,  '•  not  by  a  jug-full 
'tain't." 

"Nor  mine,"  spoke  the  visitor  firmly;  "things  are 
diff  runt.  Take  flax ;  you  can't  weave  roller  towels  out 
of  the  silky  part,  and  there's  only  the  leastest  bit  in 
an  acre  fit  to  make  ruffles  and  laid  work." 

"  You're  crazy  as  tew  ole  loons,"  asserted  dame  King. 
'•'  If  she  was  a  boy  'twould  seem  diff'runt ;  but  there 
ain't  no  sense,  bein'  it's  a  gal.  She'll  have  tew  dew  as 
her  father  says." 

They  were  silent  awhile.  That  a  woman  should  obey 
father  or  husband  was  accepted  law,  brought  along  with 
the  stakes  for  the  first  log  hut. 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Mr.  King  at  last ;  "  they've  b£en  on 
my  mind  sence  I  went  huntin'  a  few  days  ago." 

"  The  dame  eyed  him  sharply  from  under  her  heavy 
brows,  asking,  — 


34  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  What  'bout  foxes  ?  'twas  them  animills  ye  reckoned 
tew  hunt." 

"Yes,  yes,  mother;  but  a  man's  li'ble  tew  scare  up 
what  he  didn't  load  fur.  Ye  see,  the  dogs  and  me  took 
an  ole  trail  over  the  hill  back  of  the  barn,  and  struck  the 
turnpike  where  the  road  forks  off  tew  the  Plains,  dove 
intew  them  woods  beyend,  an'  the  pups  caught  a  scent. 
Such  a  holloo  !  it  went  tew  my  marrer.  We  trailed 
roun'  clear  tew  West  Plymouth,  when  the  critter  came 
out,  an'  there  'twas,  a  hansum  ole  striped  catamount. 
He  was  goin'  it  for  all  he  was  wuth,  an'  the  houn's 
close  behine,  noses  down,  an'  bodies  'most  touchin'  the 
groun'. 

"  Mighty  spikes !  ye  ort  tew  seen  that  run  cross  Baker's 
river  an'  interval.  They  jest  tore  the  grass-roots  outen 
them  medder  farms.  That  ole  critter  went  clear  tew 
Rattlesnake  Mounting  'fore  we  finished  him.  I  whipped 
his  pelt  off,  an'  we  come  down  'most  tew  the  medder, 
then  we  set  down  on  a  ledge  under  some  pines  an'  took 
our  rations.  After  I'd  smoked  and  watched  the  river  a 
spell,  —  funny  river  Baker's  is,  querlin'  all  roun'  the 
medder  most,  —  I  slung  the  hide  over  my  shoulder  an' 
traipsed  towards  Plymouth,  thinkin'  to  trade  it  there, 
an'  take  Thurlow  road  home. 

"  After  we  got  past  Meetin'-House  Hill,  down  most  tew 
the  common,  the  'Cademy  shet  down  for  the  day,  and  out 
tramped  the  boys  an'  girls.  When  we  come  tew  the 
corner  of  llussell's  store  off  went  the  dogs,  full  cry." 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Kings'  35 

"  I'll  warrant  the}'  see  'Lisbeth,"  broke  in  the  dame. 

"  You've  hit  it,  Nabby,  'twas  her.  I  lopped  ag'in  the 
store  a  laughin'.  You  ort  tew  seen  'em.  The  gals  was 
in  the  store,  an'  on  the  door-rock,  an'  runnin'  away 
screechin'  an  'hollerin'.  'Twas  fun  now,  sartin.  But 
'Lisbeth  want  skeert.  She  jest  stood  there  pattin'  the 
houn's.  She  was  glad  to  see  'em,  she  was.  Clar  for't 
when  she  pushed  that  big  bunnit  back,  —  well,  'twas 
a  picture." 

The  dame  tilted  slowly  back  and  forth  on  the  hind 
legs  of  her  chair.  She  was  mortified.  He  came  home 
that  night  wearing  his  oldest  hunting-jacket  and  pouch, 
and  she  told  him  she  "  did  hope  he  hadn't  been  out 
'mongst  folks  with  them  ole  duds  on,"  and  so  failed  of 
the  story.  She  brought  her  chair  forward  with  a  bang 
and  exclaimed  :  — 

"Did  you  stop  there  'niongst  that  passle  of  gals  an' 
boys  with  that  critter's  skin  on  yer  shoulder  ?  Dirtier'n 
an  Injin  tew  begin  with.  Don't  name  sech  a  thing  to 
me,  David !  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  did." 

"  An'  spectin'  'Lisbeth  tew  speak  tew  ye  ?  I  wouldn't 
a  done  it  myself." 

He  answered  slowly  and  proudly,  — 

"  She  did.  Wilson's  gal  couldn't  a  been  better  man- 
nered tew  nobody.  Xo  she  couldn't,  not  if  I'd  been  lord 
of  the  Ian'  with  a  sable  coat  'stid  of  that  raw  hide.  She 
said  I'd  been  huntin' ;  where'd  I  shoot  the  critter  ;  did  I 


36  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

want  tew  sell  the  pelt ;  an'  did  I  know  the  storekeeper  ? 
I  telled  her  I  gener'ly  traded  tew  Bristol,  an'  nobody 
knowed  me  much  roun'  there.  She  spoke  up  hearty  an' 
says,  '  Come  right  in ;  I  knows  Mr.  Russell ;  I'll  tell  him 
'bout  ye ; '  an'  he  give  me  a  good  price,  'sides  crackers 
an'  cheese." 

Mrs.  King  smiled  contentedly.  It  was  useless  to 
fault  David,  she  thought. 

"  You  didn't  happen  to  come  'cross  John,  I  s'pose," 
queried  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  Yes,    I   did ;    he   looked   outen   the    squire's   office 
winder  an'  see  that  picter  on  the  green,  —  I  see  him,  — 
I  wish  we  had  it  nailed  up  over  our  fireplace  this  minit, . 
mother." 

"Yes,  I  wish  we  had,  David,"  replied  the  dame, 
somewhat  confused  about  the  propriety  of  it  as  she 
squinted  up  to  the  pipes  and  candlesticks. 

"  Well,  about  John,"  inquired  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  Mis'  Lane,  'Lisbeth  bought  some 
beads  for  Dorothy,  an'  sent  some  words  tew  her  mother ; 
so,  when  I  got  'em  keerful,  we  come  outen  the  store, 
an'  fust  I  see  was  him.  He  said  he'd  come  a  piece 
with  me." 

"  What  for  special,"  inquired  she,  measuring  her 
footing  leg  carefully. 

Mrs.  Lane  understood  why  Mr.  King  and  his  wife 
loved  'Lizbeth,  and  felt  there  was  a  kind  of  freemasonry 
between  him  and  John  regarding  the  girl. 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Kings'  37 

He  took  a  gun  and  powder  horn  down,  and  began  to 
fix  the  priming  while  he  replied,  — 

"Nothin'  special  as  I  know  on.  He  was  sober'n  I 
liked,  though  he  ain't  one  of  the  noisy  kind,  anyways ; 
but  I'll  bet  there's  trouble  hitched  onto  Wilson's  tom- 
foolin'  with  doctrines.  That's  my  'pinion." 

"  John'll  do  right,  Mr.  King,  he  will." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  he  will ;  I  hain't  a  doubt  on't.  Mebby 
Wilson  will  tew,  but  I  don't  b'lieve  it ;  though  if  Phil 
Harmon  gits  'Lizbeth,  I'll  give  up  gunnin'." 

Mrs.  Lane  was  evidently  troubled ;  but  she  only  said, 
as  she  rolled  up  her  knitting  and  put  it  in  the  basket, 
."  I  must  go  home ;  our  folks  looked  for  me  'fore  now." 

"  If  you  must,  Marthy'll  bring  that  root  of  camomile, 
which  we  was  speakin'  'bout  'fore  dinner,  out  of.  the 
garden.  •  Girls,"  she  called,  "  come  right  down,  Mis' 
Lane's  goin'." 

After  invitations  back  and  forth,  while  Mrs.  Lane 
put  on  bonnet  and  cloak,  the  motherly  little  woman 
took  basket  and  camomile  and  went  home  through  the 
pasture. 


38  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTER  V 
AT  MR.  WILSON'S 

THERE  was  no  loitering  at  the  Wilsons',  for  spring 
work  drove  them. 

Mr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Lane,  going  before  their  flocks 
with  salt  measures,  toled  them  into  a  pen  by  the  meadow 
brook,  where  the  dam  of  a  mill,  never  built,  held  the 
water  forming  a  small  pond.  Into  that  the  sheep  were 
dragged  and  washed  mid  din  of  boys,  shouting  of  wash- 
ers, and  crying  of  momentarily  bereft  lambs.  Some 
days  after  men  clipped  their  fleeces  to  the  merry  click, 
click  of  razor-edged  shears  and  rustic  songs  of  the 
shearing-floor,  the  master  tarred  his  initials  upon  their 
sides,  and  sent  them  to  the  mountain  pasture  along  with 
young  stock.  Crops  were  breaking  above  warm  hills, 
sage  and  savory  pushed  green  leaves  through  the  garden 
mould.  Two  webs  of  new  linen  lay  bleaching  beneath 
the  apple  trees  at  Mr.  Wilson's. 

In  the  kitchen  a  basket  of  wool  sat  under  a  cool  north 
window,  a  pair  of  cards  lay  upon  it,  pats  of  carded  wool 
beside  it.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  slicing  cheese  curd,  and 
Lettice  brushing  the  hearth  with  a  turkey's  wing,  when 
suddenly  Mrs.  Wilson  inquired,  — 

"Where's 'Lisbeth?" 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  39 

"  She  and  Tom  was  wat'rin'  them  pink-roots  by  the 
front  door ;  an'  then  I  guess  she's  tyin'  up  our  mornin- 
glory  vines,  they're  all  sprawlin'  roun'  tryin'  tew  lay  holt 
on  sumthin'.  I  see  her  by  'em,  an'  then  Tom  come  in 
after  thrums." 

"  Why  don't  she  finish  netting  these  towels  ?  " 

"  I  dunno." 

"  She  must  come  in.  You  call  her,  for  her  father  will 
expect  her  to  be  busy  now  she's  got  home." 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  I  see  she's  been  runnin'  roun'  all  this 
mornin'.  She's  dretful  quiet  like,  though." 

"  Kinder  tired  of  school,"  said  her  mother. 

"Cat's  foot !  'tain't  that." 

"What  is  it,  Lettice  ?     She  looks  well.'' 

"  She  ain't  in  consumption,  Mis'  Wilson,  nor  sick  any- 
ways." 

"  Call  her ;  she  must  set  down  to  work." 

"  S'posen  she  can't  keep  still,  Mis'  Wilson  ?  " 

"  What's  to  hender  ?  " 

"Good  land !  she'd  like  tew  set  right  down  by  that 

V 

winder,  smellin'  the  apple  blows ;  love  tew  dearly,  but 
she  can't,  in  my  opinion." 

"  Well,  I  never ! " 

"  It's  her  mind  that  can't.  'Tain't  likely  what  we  see 
an'  call  'Lisbeth  can  set  stock  still  with  that  ruunin' 
nigh  and  yender.  If  I  was  you,  I'd  send  her  an'  the 
boys  up  the  Pinnacle  for  broom  stuff." 

"  Do  you  need  a  broom  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Wilson 
doubtfully. 


40  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Yes,  I  do.  This  ole  one-  ain't  skurcely  fit  tew  sweep 
the  oven  out  with,  let  alone  floors  that's  been  fresh 
washed." 

A  low  hymn  preluded  'Lisbeth's  entrance. 

"  Where's  the  children  ?  "  inquired  her  mother. 

"  They  went  hunting  eggs." 

"  Lettice,  call  them,  if  you  want  a  broom." 

"'Lisbeth's  goin'  tew,"  remarked  the  maid.  "An' 
you'll  have  tew  climb  the  Pinnacle,  for  hemlock  from 
up  there  lasts  as  long  ag'in  as  the  medder  stuff." 

"  You  don't  want  to  go,  it's  so  warm,  do  you,  'Lis- 
beth ?  "  queried  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Yes,  mother;  yes,  indeed  I  do." 

"  Then  be  very  spry,  for  Lettice  is  in  a  hurry." 

"  They  needn't  hurry  a  mite,"  said  the  maid.  "  My 
work  ain't  done  up,  an'  the  milk  emptin's  is  riz,  there's 
pepper  tew  pound  for  the  pepper-box,  it's  dryin'  afore 
the  fire  now,  —  much  as  I  can  dew  'fore  dinner.  Here's 
the  children,"  said  she,  as  they  came  up  to  the  window 
through  mustard  leaves. 

"  See,  'Lisbeth,"  one  called,  holding  up  a  hat  full  of 
eggs,  "  we've  got  a  nest  under  the  bay  sill,  one  in  the 
shejep  rack,  one  in  the  dock  leaves,  an'  we've  just  found 
another  in  the  tansy  close  up  to  the  wall." 

"  Good.  Put  them  away  and  come,  Lettice  wants  a 
broom." 

"  You  going,  oh,  what  fun !  Drop  that  kitten,  Doro- 
thy. Come  along,  Tom.  Lettice,  give  us  a  doughnut." 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  41 

"  Doughnuts ! "  cried  she,  going  as  fast  as  she  could 
to  an  earthen  jar  full ;  "  I  wonder  what  boys  are  made 
of.  They're  always  hungry  'less  they're  sick  abed." 

'Lisbeth  was  a  goodly  sight,  with  her  blue  sun-bonnet 
dangling  from  an  arm,  her  blue  linen  dress  cut  accord- 
ing to  the  Puritan  order  that  "  Their  sleeves  shall  come 
to  the  wrist,  and  their  gowns  be  closed  about  the  neck." 

The  boys  and  Dorothy  went  before  and  on  all  sides. 
They  showed  her  where  robins  and  blackbirds  builded ; 
carefully  opened  grasses  by  a  rock  heap,  letting  her 
peep  into  a  ground-bird's  nest ;  they  found  checkerberry 
knolls,  and  examined  woodchucks'  burrows. 

Care,  fallen  from  them,  remained  at  home  with  the 
handmaid  and  matron.  Lettice  was  fairly  up  in  arms ; 
so,  finally,  she  turned  upon  ]\[rs.  Wilson  not  fiercely, 
but  determinedly,  as  one  seeks  truth  without  apology. 

"  Mrs.  Wilson,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  Lettice,  you're  sharper'n  an'  axe,  this  morn- 
ing !  What  is  what  ?  " 

«  That's  the  pint.     I'm  after  light  on't." 

"  Light  on  it !     I  don't  see  anything  wrong." 

"Folks  don't  gener'ly  see  what  they  keep  behind 
'em." 

"  Lettice ! " 

"  -'Tain't  no  use  makin'  b'lieve  twixt  you  an'  m^-.  I'm 
goin'  tew  know  one  thing;  an'  if  you  deal  double  in  your 
words,  I'll  find  somebody  that  won't,  so  there  !  " 

"  Why ! " 


42  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  We're  past  whyiu'.  It's  full  as  hard  for  me  tew  ask 
as  'tis  for  you  tew  answer.  Tell  me  what  Phil  Har- 
mon's struttin'  roun'  here  for,  prompt  an'  high-headed  as 
ever  I  see  or  ever  want  tew  ?  A  body  feels  like  chashf 
him  down  the  hill  with  a  mortar  pestle.  I'd  ruther  see 
folks  a  little  less  forthputtin'.  What's  his  errant  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  made  any  to  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson 
rather  dejectedly.  Lettice  stood  by  the  dresser  with  an 
armful  of  plates.  She  gave  Mrs.  Wilson  a  queer  stare 
before  saying,  — 

"No,  ma'am.  Then  most,  probable  he  hain't  spoke 
tew  nobody,  an'  you  don't  'spect  he  has.  P'raps  he 
dresses  himself  with  a  starched  bosom,  an'  comes  up 
tew  show  the  boys  how  tew  sling  stones  at  yeller  birds, 
but  it  don't  look  likely." 

"He  is  a  good,  capable  young  man,  Lettice,  and  clear 
on  the  doctrines,  that  is  past  denying." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lettice  dryly ;  "  I  persoom  he'll  stick  tew 
them  as  gives  him  the  whip  hand.  Set  right  still,  I'll 
put  this  curd  intew  the  cheese-hoop." 

"  I  kinder  thought  we'd  put  tansy  in  it,  Lettice." 

"  I  would,  Mrs.  Wilson,  if  I  was  you.  Let  me  run 
out  for  it." 

As  she  broke  the  full-flavored  herb,  far-off  laughter 
from  the  children  high  up  on  the  Pinnacle,  as  a  pre- 
cipitous hill  to  the  right  was  called,  came  to  her.  Her 
face  grew  stern,  and  set.  She  began  talking  when  she 
reached  the  entry. 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  43 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  Phil  may  be  good,  but  he's  awful 
selfish,  an'  gaps  don't  look  well  in  a  man's  conscience 
more'ii  they  dew  in  a  wall  or  rail  fence.  Don't  take 
long  for  critters  tew  get  in,  '  little  foxes  that  spile  the 
vines '  an'  sech.  I  'spose  he  can  rattle  off  '  Honor  thy 
father  an'  thy  mother ; '  but  his  practice  ain't  wuth 
a  cent." 

"  Not  a  good  son  ?  " 

"  Xo,  ma'am  ;  he  ain't,  as  I  look  at  it.  He'd  hate  tew 
see  his  folks  hungry,  or  have  'em  wear  ragged  clothes, 
an'  would  send  for  the  doctor  if  they  was  sick ;  he  'pears 
well  'fore  comp'ny  an'  all  that,  but  when  they're  alone 
it's  diff  runt." 

"  Why,  Lettice  Bean  ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  good  tew  the  neighbors  an'  allus  was  ; 
but  there's  his  mother,  pretty  as  a  pink  blow  ever  was 
or  ever  will  be,  he's  cross  an'  sullen  tew  her  half  the 
time.  Abigail  Sweet,  that  lived  there  a  year  when  the 
ole  lady  was  sick,  told  me  how  'twas,  an'  I  hain't  a 
doubt  on't." 

"  I  never  heard  him  faulted  so,  Lettice." 

"He  ain't  faulty  entirely,  for  he's  been  brought  up 
tew  think  the  sun  riz  an'  set  by  his  motions.  If  he 
gits  the  right  wife,  with  temper  an'  sense  tew  train 
him,  he'll  be  a  fust-rate  man ;  but  it'll  take  a  £al  dif- 
f'runt  from  our  'Lizbeth.  That  stent  ain't  set  for  her ; 
an'  if  she  tries  it,  mark  my  words,  Mis'  Wilson,  she'll 
be  dead  or  wuss  less'n  a  year." 


44  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

Lettice  put  the  cheese  into  the  press  and  began  card- 
ing, leaving  Mrs.  Wilson  to  think  a  moment.  Finishing 
the  first  roll  she  began  again,  — 

"  Do  you  think  Phil  cares  a  cent  for  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,  Lettice." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  it,  not  reely.  He  wants  tew  marry 
her  'cause  all  the  rest  of  the  boys  dew  tew,  —  show  how 
smart  he  is.  I've  allus  thought,  and  think  still,  he'd 
pick  Eunice  Batchelder  out  of  ten  thousand  gals  if 
'twan't  for  that.  But  there's  a  side  tew  this  business 
where  he  don't  come  in.  'Lisbeth  went  tew  the  'Cad- 
emy  last  year,  you  know." 

"  And  the  year  before  too." 

"  Humph  !  Mis'  Wilson ;  fust  year  John  Mayhew  was 
tew  college,  an'  last  he  was  studyin'  law  with  your 
brother.  You'll  see  'twas  quite  a  change  'fore  you're 
through.  Them  tew  have  sot  by  one  'nuther  seiice  they 
was  the  leastest  mites  on  the  a-b-c  seat." 

The  mother  drew  a  weary  breath,  saying,  "Mr.  Wil- 
son never  will  hear  one  word  to  such  a  thing,  never." 

"  P'r'aps  not ;  but  he'll  hear  a  toll'ble  sight  about  it, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"I'm  sure  he  has  given  encouragement  in  another 
direction,  Lettice." 

"  Zactly.     Now,  who's  'Lisbeth  goin'  to  incurridge." 

"'Lisbeth!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  'Lisbeth." 

"  Why,  I  never  thought  "  — 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  45 

"  Of  her  ?  Oh,  no ;  but  I  have.  Are  you  an'  her 
father  layin'  out  tew  make  her  marry  Phil  ? " 

"  Make !     I  don't  like  that  word,  Lettice." 

"  Don't  matter  whether  the  question  conies  back  or 
aidge.  Are  you  plannin'  on  it  ?  " 

"'  Her  father  wants  her  to." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Say !  say  to  him  !     He  is  head  of  the  house." 

"An'  pritty  much  all  the  rest  on't,  'pears  tew  me," 
replied  Lettice. 

"Lettice,  you  must  not.  Such  talk  is  against  all 
lights  and  doctrine." 

"  I've  follered  both  pritty  close,  that  you  know ;  but 
if  they  lead  tew  what  you're  plannin',  them  lights  '11 
seem  poorer  tew  me  than  a  one-wick't  taller  candle,  an' 
the  doctrines  wuss." 

Mrs.  Wilson  gazed  terrified  at  the  usually  quiet,  help- 
ful spinster,  so  exemplary  in  every  respect,  so  suddenly 
transformed  into  an  independent  woman,  flying  in  the 
face  of  order,  duty,  and  religion.  She  answered 
meekly,  — 

"Mr.  Wilson  is  head  of  this  house  by  divine  author- 
ity, an'  he  will  do  right,  Lettice,  he  will." 

"  Mebby  he  will,  an  mebby  he  won't." 

"  Why,  Lettice  !  why-ee-e-e  !  " 

"  I  don't  want  tew  fault  him,  but  I  am  skeered  of 
this  whole  business.  I  telKyou,  our  'Lisbeth  never  '11 
put  her  mind  on  the  Harmon  boy.  She  won't  —  can't," 
said  Lettice  fierce!  v. 


46  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  relation  of  mental  to  muscular  force  was  illy 
comprehended  by  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  but  she  felt  very  insig- 
nificant as  her  heretofore  meek  help  strode  to  the  fire- 
place, lifted  a  large  iron  kettle  full  of  water  and  hung 
it  on  the  crane,  —  a  man's  work. 

"  What  is  goin'  on  here  ?  " 

The  two  women  saw  grandmother's  "soldierly  figure 
and  dominant  cap-border  framed  in  the  east-room  door. 
Lettice  made  haste  to  say,  — 

"  The  iron  kittle  was  bilin'  over  on  the  coals,  if  that's 
what  you  heard." 

"  Where's  'Lisbeth  ?  "  demanded  the  old  lady,  march- 
ing to  a  chair  by  one  window. 

"  Gone  with  the  children  after  broom  stuff,"  answered 
Lettice  quickly,  trying  to  gain  a  little  time  for  Mrs. 
Wilson,  who  was  trembling  at  the  signs  of  a  severe  over- 
hauling. Laughter  trilling  through  the  orchard  notified 
the  old  lady  that  her  time  was  short. 

"  Cur'us  way  tew  bring  up  a  gal ;  it  wa'n't  so  in  my 
day.  Hemlock  !  there  she  is  up  by  the  orchard  bars, 
with  her  hands  full  of  young  brakes  or  some  sech  stuff. 
Why  ain't  she  cardin',  Marthy  ?  Toilin'  an'  spinnin'  is 
her  portion,  so  prepare  her  for  it." 

Lettice  dropped  some  baking-tins,  that  rattled  over 
the  floor.  She  quickly  picked  them  up,  and  went  into 
the  pantry  humming,  which  habit  of  hers  was  a  fret 
to  the  old  lady,  who  chewed  a  piece  of  sweet-flag  while 
Lettice  disappeared  and  shut  the  door. 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  47 

Dame  Wilson  then  began  again,  — 

((  She  will  merry  the  Harmon  boy,  for  Thomas  has 
'greed  tew  it ;  an'  she  needs  tew  know  sunthin'  'sides  laid 
work  or  knottin'  ribbins.  Them  Harmon  women  are 
workers  fust  an'  last." 

"  Her  father  has  spoke  about  it,"  meekly  replied  Mrs. 
Wilson. 

"  Then  'tend  tew  it,"  was  the  stern  command  as  the 
children  entered. 

'Lisbeth  recognized  a  stormy  atmosphere,  and  quietly 
sat  down  by  a  window  near  her  mother,  whose  hands 
were  combing  a  white  fleece.  As  Lettice  trimmed  the 
hemlock  and  tied  it  to  the  broomstick,  she  noticed  the 
girl's  steady  eyes  looked  questioningly  out  on  green  field 
and  budding  clover,  and  half  a  sigh  mingled  with  the 
soft  wind  that  wafted  the  odor  of  ten  thousand  times 
ten  thousand  incense  cups  from  the  blossoming  trees. 

Years  after  Lettice  said,  "  I  never  made  no  claim  tew 
second-sight ;  but  I  seed  it  all  one  mornin',  the  day  after 
she  come  home  from  the  'Cademy,  an'  John  studyin'  law 
in  the  squire's  office  same  time.  She  was  nettin'  a 
towel  by  the  north  winder,  'long  of  her  mother  an'  the 
rest  of  iis,  her  eyes  an'  hair  a-shinin',  an'  the  trees  full 
of  blows." 


48  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTER   VI 

SOME    DOMESTIC    MATTERS 

WHAT  she  said  that  morning  very  sharply,  as  she 
jerked  the  new  -broom  into  a  corner,  was,  — 

"If  you  plan  tew  quilt  'fore  hayin',  we  must  think 
about  it,  for  the  quiltin'-frames  need  new  flannel 
round  'em,  an'  the  wool  ain't  carded." 

"  I  lay  out  to  quilt  one,  certain." 

"More'n  one?" 

"  No,  unless  'Lisbeth  wants  hers  done." 

"  I  ? "  the  girl  said.  The  suggestion  awakened  a 
misty  sense  of  something  disagreeable  that  was  better 
antagonized  at  once.  The  granite  of  her  nature  ap- 
peared in  the  firm  reply,  — 

"I  don't  want  it  finished."  Then  she  continued, 
cheery  as  ever,  "But  you  better  let  me  bring  a  basket 
of  wool  coarser  than  this  and  card  for  yours." 

A  dismayed  feeling  overcame  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  an 
ominous  "  Humph  "  from  the  grandmother  alarmed  her, 
as  'Lisbeth  started  up-stairs.  She  returned  immediately, 
followed  by  footsteps  in  the  entry.  A  hearty  smile 
beamed  from  Mrs.  Lane's  calash  as  she  said, — 

.  "  Morning,  Mis'  Wilson ;    morning,   grandma' am  and 
all.     Guess  you  wern't  looking  for  me  so  soon." 


Some  Domestic  Matters  49 

"  We  are  as  glad  to  see  you  as  can  be,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wilson.  "  Come  to  a  chair  and  lay  off  your  bonnet." 

"I'll  push  it  back  while  I  set  a  minit.  I've  come 
borrowing,  Mis'  Wilson." 

"  Why,  certain,  anything  we've  got." 

"  I  want  'Lisbeth.  You  see,  Loizy  and  I  want  to 
quilt.  We  colored  the  lining  last  fall  with  good  strong 
maple  dye  set  with  alum,  —  makes  a  nice  dark  shade, 
so  I  told  Loizy  we'd  quilt  it  next  week  Wednes- 
day, if  'Lisbeth  could  help  us,  she  has  such  a  knack 
for  sewing  linings  into  frames  and  laying  on  wool 
pats." 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  perplexed.  To  hesitate  was  ill- 
mannered  ;  but  she  feared  young  May  hew  was  at  home, 
and  mistrusted  her  husband  would  object  to  'Lisbeth's 
passing  a  day  in  the  same  house  with  him. 

Lettice  understood  the  situation.  She  knew  Mrs. 
Wilson  was  deciding  whether  she  should  risk  blame 
from  a  man  she  feared,  or  fail  a  neighbor.  It  was 
a  hard  case.  The  growing  fret  puzzled  Mrs.  Lane, 
and  she  hastened  to  relieve  it. 

"Law,  now,  Mis'  Wilson,  don't  trouble  yourself  a 
mite.  Like  enough  we  can  git  Ruth." 

"Of  course  she  can  go,  Marthy,"  broke  in  the  grand- 
mother ;  "  why  don't  you  tell  Mis'  Lane  so  ?  I  s'pose 
you're  folks  are  all  tew  home  an'  well." 

"All  well,  I  guess:  two  of  our  boys  have  gone  to 
their  Uncle  Daniel's ;  he's  kinder  behindhand  with  his 


50  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

work,  and  Mr.  Lane  told  John  he  better  stick  to  law 
a  few  days  longer." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  change  of  expression  was  so  sudden 
and  absolute  that  a  demure  twinkle  danced  out  from 
her  visitor's  calash,  as  she  said,  — 

"'Lisbeth  can  go  as  well  as  not,  Mis'  Lane,  and  be 
glad  to.  You  don't  think  of  anything  to  hender,  do 
you,  Lettice  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  answered  she,  as  she  went  softly 
humming  to  the  cellarway. 

Mr.  Wilson  came  in  cloudy  and  stern. 

"  Good-mornin',  Mis'  Lane,  how  be  ye  ? "  he  in- 
quired grumpily. 

"  I'm  well.  Seems  to  me  you  ain't  quite  so  chipper 
as  common." 

"  I  ain't.     I'm  sicker'n  a  dog." 

Mrs.  Wilson  rose  doubtfully,  but  his  mother  rushed 
to  the  dresser. 

"  Hand  down  that  bottle  of  rum  and  thoroughwort, 
Lettice.  It  is  his  liver,  I  know." 

"  Put  up  that  bottle,"  said  he  sharply. 

"  Take  a  spoonful,  jest  one,"  pleaded  his  mother. 

"  Put  it  up  an'  set  down.  I  ain't  sick.  It  is  sunthin' 
wuss'n  liver  complaint,  or  fever  either.  'Tain't  nothin' 
you  can  shoot,  but  it's  meaner'n  skunks." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  his  mother. 

"  A  man," -  —  they  held  their  breaths,  —  "a  good-f  or- 
nothin'  circuit  rider  comin'  right  among  us." 


Some  Domestic  Matters  51 

"  Not  exactly,  Thomas ;  you're  sole  Prudential  Com- 
mittee in  this  deestrick."  She  stood  straight  and  defiant 
like  her  son. 

"  I  am,"  he  said,  "  an'  no  heresy  will  be  ranted 
round  here." 

"  What's  his  name  ?  who  is  he  ?  "  they  inquired. 

"  Benson,  Joseph  Benson.  Comes  from  Boston  way, 
so  I  hear.  One  of  the  most  dangerous  of  the  lot,  nigh 
as  I  can  make  out." 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Lane.  "  Charity 
Brown,  she  'twas  Charity  Smith,  told  me  she  heard 
him  down  below.  His  singing  is  beautiful,  she  says, 
tenor  voice,  and  his  appearance  is  powerful  as  well  as 
his  preaching." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lettice,  putting  a  fresh  stick  on  the  fire ; 
"  there  ain't  nothin'  feeble  about  'em,  that  is  one  fact. 
Them  Methodis'  fellers  gener'ly  go  at  it  hammer  an' 
tongs." 

"  What !  "  Mr.  Wilson  looked  so  fierce  she  caught 
hold  of  the  mantel-tree.  "  Are  you  tarred  with  that 
stick,  Lettice  Bean  ?  " 

Her  spirit  equalled  his  as  he  very  soon  learned. 

'•  Xobody  but  the  A'mighty  has  a  mark  on  me,  an' 
that  I'll  let  ye  know,  Thomas  Wilson.  As  fer  doctrines, 
I've  stuck  tew  'em,  an'  'spect  tew;  but  I  can't  help 
thinkin'  the  new  ones  would  make  us  all  full  as 
comf  table." 

"  Xever  let  me  hear  another  word  of  that  kind  while 


52  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

you  stay  in  this  house,  Lettice.  What  are  your  opin- 
ions, Mis'  Lane  ?  " 

"We  are  told  to  prove  all  things,  and  hold  fast  the 
good.  We  haven't  proved  this,  have  we  ?  " 

"  I  am  surprised  at  such  talk  from  you  an'  Lettice. 
Are  you  upholdin'  these  errors,  Mis'  Lane  ?  Certain 
you  talk  like  it." 

"  You  would  uphold  anything  wrong  quick  as  I 
would,  Mr.  Wilson ;  but  neither  of  us  can  pull  weeds 
afore  they  grow.  In  a  corn-hill  Our  folks  gener'ly  let 
corn-sprouts  and  weeds  come  along  together  high  enough 
to  tell  them  apart,  and  then  weed  out." 

His  scowl  darkened  as  he  said,  "  I'm  afraid  you're 
tamperin'  with  the  souls  of  them  boys  of  yourn,  keepin' 
John  Mayhew,  an'  so  harborin'  sech  ungodly  doctrines." 

She  smiled  firmly  but  soothingly  while  replying,  — 

"The  boys  won't  learn  bad  principles  or  practices 
from  him,  that  I  know." 

"  Makes  out  what  I  was  a-sayin', "  went  on  the 
farmer.  "  Doctrines  are  bein'  let  go  of  —  everything 
tew  loose  ends.  John  seems  good,  but  it's  a  deceivin' 
thing  born  in  him,  wuss  for  him  than  anybody  ;  'tain't 
real  religion,  'cause  he  hain't  got  none." 

"  Law,  now,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  she  gently,  "  you're 
clear  mistook  about  John.  Our  folks  never  see  a  sign 
of  his  thinking  himself  good  ;  no,  I  guess  not.  But  our 
old  house  seems  kinder  dark  when  he  goes  away,  an' 
none  of  us  ever  heard  an  unbecomin'  word  from  him  in 


Some  Domestic  Matters  53 

this  world.  He  ain't  a  '  sissy  boy,'  either.  He  sticks  to 
what  he  sets  out  for.  There's  no  let  go  to  John,  if  he 
don't  talk  so  smart." 

Her  remarks  nettled  him  more.  Persistency  was  a 
quality  he  preferred  the  young  man  should  lack.  He 
threw  a  domineering  glance  towards  'Lisbeth  bending 
over  her  work,  saying,  "  Children  are  gittin'  out  of 
control,  settin'  up  for  themselves.  It  is  entirely  wrong, 
an'  I  hold  tew  the  old  ways  of  family  authority.  No- 
body will  gainsay  the  decrees  in  words  or  actions  in 
this  house  while  I  live  an'  stay  in  it." 

"  Where  is  this  minister  going  to  preach  ?  "  inquired 
she,  hoping  to  turn  the  subject. 

"  Minister !  he  ain't  one,  he's  nothin'  at  all,  wuss'n 
nothin' ;  but  sech  as  he  is  he's  coming  tew  the  Hill 
school  house." 

"  There,  Mr.  Wilson,  I  wouldn't  borrow  trouble,  not  a 
mite.  Our  folks  come  here  to  find  a  spot  where  they 
could  think  as  they'd  a  mind  to ;  and  it  don't  look  well 
in  us,  'pears  to  me,  to  be  browbeating  the  first  ones 
that  disagree  with  us." 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  our  church  ? "  he  asked 
severely,  feeling  sure  that  she  entertained  heterodox 
views  as  to  the  obedience  of  wives,  at  least.  He  knew 
she  and  Mr.  Lane  reasoned  together,  but  doubted  if  her 
husband  had  ever  really  laid  a  command  upon  her.  She 
touched  a  finger  to  her  lip,  looked  thoughtfully  through 
the  apple  blossoms  a  moment,  then  answered,  — 


54  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Yes,  I  do  believe  pretty  much  as  T  was  taught,  but  I 
put  the  Bible  above  the  Catechism." 

"  Don't  you  s'pose  the  learned  doctors  that  made  the 
Catechism  understood  all  mysteries  an'  knowledge?" 

"  Skurcely,  but  law,  that's  nothing  against  them.  No 
man  can  see  it  all.  Do  you,  or  I,  or  anybody  ?  " 

Mr.  Wilson  was  terrified,  really  so.  He  obeyed  the 
law,  he  adored  it;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  judged  it  by  ordi- 
nary mental  processes.  It  was  dreadful  in  his  eyes. 

"  Mis'  Wilson !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  how  dare  you  ? 
Them  men  was  given  to  know  what  is  too  hard  for  us, 
let  into  great  mysteries  an'  all  of  'em.  You  must 
persoom  so." 

"  Mostly,  I  lay  out  you  are  right,  Mr.  Wilson ;  but 
I  read,/  His  ways  are  past  finding  out.'  So  far  as  Latin 
and  so  on  goes  I've  no  fault  to  find ;  but  when  they 
undertake  to  explain  what  *God  thinks,  and  his  ways, 
I  don't  see  as  it  would  make  much  difference  who  was 
laying  hold  on  what  nobody  could  find  out,  you,  or  I,  or 
them.  I  guess  if  I  should  say  to  our  quilting,  Loizy 
and  I  are  going  to  have,  that  I  knew  the  Lord's  plans, 
and  how  He  is  meaning  to  carry  them  plans  out,  there'd 
be  some  cur'us  looks  across  them  quilting-frames." 

Mr.  Wilson  rose,  white  and  resolute.  "  I've  dreaded 
it,"  he  said,  "  an'  I  do  still,  Mis'  Lane;  seems,  as  if  the 
very  foundations  was  movin',  but  then  they  ain't.  They 
are  sure,  havin'  the  seal.  Trouble  is  threat'nin',  a  sight 
of  it,  but  the  elect  shall  possess  the  earth,"  and  he 


Some  Domestic  Matters  55 

strode  out  with  the  mighty  air  of  one  who  fights  for  the 
Cross  on  any  field. 

"  Pity  I  said  a  word.  It's  too  bad  I  did,  Mr.  Wilson 
is  so  stirred  up,"  said  Mrs.  Lane. 

'•  We  better  not  s'arch,"  said  the  old  lady  imperatively ; 
"  we  better  set  right  down  an'  set  there.  My  folks,  nor 
gran'sir  Wilson's,  never  dreampt  of  sech  Avorks,  never." 

The  steady  voice  of  another  warrior  came  from  the 
pantry. 

"  Sayin'  we  nmst'nt  s'arch  intew  the  new  doctrine 
ain't  sense.  We  shall  have  tew,  so  will  Thomas  Wilson, 
an'  we  better  go  at  it  sorter  reasonable  like." 

"  O  dear,  I  hope  it  won't  be  so  bad  a  time,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  We  sha'n't  want  it  any  wuss,  I'll  warrant,"  Lettice 
replied,  adding,  "'Lisbeth,  won't  you  run  intew  the 
garden,  an'  nip  off  a  mite  of  green  sage  for  this  stew, 
an'  mebbe  you  tew  women  better  finish  up  as  tew 
quiltin'." 

"  The  main  thing  was  'Lisbeth ;  an'  you  thought  she 
could  come,  so  I  understood,  Mis'  Wilson,"  said  the 
visitor  as  she  rose  to  go. 

"  Yes,  I'm  glad  she  came  home  in  season  to  help 
you." 

Mrs.  Lane  pulled  her  cala'sh  on,  and  reached  the  outer 
door  where  she  paused,  turned  back,  and  said,  — 

"  Seeing  you're  cabbige  plants  in  them  boxes  makes 
me  think  that  Mr.  Lane  told  me  to  be  sure  and  ask  if 


56  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

you  can  spare  some.  Our  seed  never  come  up,  not  a 
seed." 

"  Why,  yes,  certain,"  answered  Mrs.  Wilson,  going 
back  with  her  visitor ;  "  and  don't  you  want  some  house- 
leeks  ?  this  banking  is  full  of  them.  Take  all  you  want ; 
they  grow  better  for  weeding  out.  Here  is  a  little  bail 
basket  of  Dorothy's  on  the  chips ;  you  can  take  them 
home  in  it." 

"Loizy'll  be  glad  of  them.  The  snow  was  so  thin, 
most  everything  died  under  our  fore-room  window  but 
the  sweet  pinks  and  southernwood.  When  are  you 
going  to  put  in  your  camlet  quilt  ?  " 

"  Some  time  'tween  now  and  haying." 

"  I  would.  I'm  much  obliged  for  the  roots  and  cab- 
biges,  and  Loizy'll  be  glad  to  help  any  time.  I  guess 
she  may  run  down  with  the  basket  towards  sunset." 

"  We're  always  pleased  to  see  her,  but  don't  put  your- 
selves out  about  the  basket." 


CHAPTEK   VII 
MRS.  LANE'S  LITTLE  BROWN  HOUSE 

DAY  was  young  when  'Lisbeth  went  out  into  its 
splendor  on  the  morning  of  quilting-day.  No  clouds 
threatened,  only  a  few  fleecy  pennons  unfurled  above 
the  northern  hills. 


At  Mrs.   Lane's  57 

Underfoot  smartweed  showed  its  rosy  specks  of  bloom, 
and  pale  blue  innocence  jostled  against  patches  of  chick- 
weed,  whose  white  atom  flowers  played  hide  and  seek 
among  its  yellowish  leaves. 

Little  knolls  by  the  wayside  were  pricked  out  by  hair- 
like  stems  and  fragile  heads  of  robin-wheat. 

Buttercups  lifted  their  golden  chalices  to  the  golden 
sun,«and  swung  with  graceful  nodding  on  their  slender 
stems.  White  and  red  clover  emptied  censers  on  the 
lightly  moving  breeze ;  white  and  red  roses,  tangled  in 
walls,  exhaled  perfume. 

Deep  in  each  rose  heart,  pendent  to  flower  and  weed, 
hung  to  green  blades,  sparkled  tiny  jewels,  shading 
through  all  the  prismatic  tones.  From  grass-spire,  bush, 
and  tree  chorussed  choirs  of  birds.  She  loved  even  the 
homeliest  life  about  her. 

She  felt  a  faithful  devotion  to  lake  and  sentinel 
mountain,  to  rugged  steeps  with  moss-patched  boulders 
bedded  into  their  sides ;  she  loved  the  network  of  brown 
roots  in  gravelly  banks.  Trees,  flowers,  and  birds,  all 
were  hers,  the  full,  undeeded  riches  of  a  wholesome  life. 
Travelling  unbonneted  up  the  northern  road,  every  move- 
ment replete  with  the  free  grace  of  the  hills,  suddenly 
she  paused  by  the  orchard  bars,  and  inhaled  a  slow 
breath.  A  look  of  delight  came  over  her  as  if  she  felt 
all  beauteous  things  waited  upon  her  that  perfect  day. 

She  pulled  her  calash  on,  and  hurried  to  "the  half- 
way mark,"  which  was  a  grove  of  yellow  birches  mid- 


58  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

way  between  her  father's  house  and  Mrs.  Lane's.  In  an 
open  central  space  among  them,  a  gnarled  trunk  had 
bent  while  growing,  forming  a  seat,  above  and  around 
which  a  tall  sweetbrier  grew. 

The  spice  of  its  swelling  buds  had  beckoned  'Lisbeth 
at  the  bars ;  and  she  hastened  into  the  nook,  caught  a 
low  limb,  and  swung  to  the  seat.  She  pulled  the  brier 
twigs  down,  and  plucked  some  flowers  for  her  bodice 
and  some  for  Mrs.  Lane,  then  went  into  the  road  and 
over  a  sounding  ledge  that  echoed  each  footfall  like  the 
beat  of  a  far  drum. 

There  the  weather-beaten  Lane  homestead  was  in 
sight,  sheltered  northerly  by  the  fertile  slopes  of  Kidder 
Hill.  It  nestled  close  to  the  long  western  face  of  the 
Pinnacle.  On  that  stony  height  cows  and  a  cosset 
lamb  were  feeding.  A  huge  rock  seemed  carefully 
driven  part  of  the  way  into  its  side,  and  standing  upon 
it  a  black-and-white  cow  unconcernedly  cropped  her 
breakfast  from  around  it.  One  was  persuaded  that  only 
a  giant  mullein-stalk,  rooted  at  the  boulder's  foot  and 
bracing  hard  against  it,  prevented  rock,  cow,  and  all 
from  tumbling  into  the  road  and  dooryard. 

The  Pond,  with  verdant  field  and  hill,  lay  westward, 
and  Smith  Hill  cinctured  the  southern  horizon  like  a 
green  zone. 

Mrs.  Lane's  house  was  one  story  high,  with  eaves  to 
the  road.  Its  dovetailed  boards  were  warped  and  black, 
and  spotted  with  tree-moss.  A  door  and  two  windows, 


At  Mrs.   Lane's  59 

one  high  up,  broke  the  gable  end ;  two  windows  opened 
on  the  road. 

At  the  house  corner,  by  the  door,  an  immense  post 
rose  higher  than  the  eaves,  upholding  a  well-sweep  which 
seesawed  on  it,  as  a  dangling  pole  carried  a  bucket 
down  into  the  well  and  back. 

The  yard  was  full  of  mallows  and  short-stemmed 
clovers,  over  which  fluffy  little  chickens  tripped  them- 
selves in  their  first  efforts  for  a  living. 

Mrs.  Lane  stood  at  a  bench  by  the  well-curb,  patting 
butter  into  golden  bricks,  as  the  girl  came  up. 

"  Morning,  'Lisbeth,  brier  roses  ?  " 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Lane.  Yes  ;  I  picked  them  and 
some  brakes  coming  along." 

"  I'm  real  glad  you  did,  for  our  garden  blows  are 
skurce  yet.  Loizy,"  she  called,  "give  'Lisbeth  that 
cracked  pitcher  off  the  dresser." 

Louisa  was  a  bright  little  woman  with  black  hair, 
black  eyes,  and  round  rosy  face  like  her  father.  She 
made  a  mock  courtesy  to  the  young  girl,  saying,  "  You 
can  reach  the  dish  for  that  pretty  posy  as  you  come 
out  of  mother's  room,  when  you've  hung  your  bonnet 
up." 

'Lisbeth  went  through  into  Mrs.  Lane's  room.  Part 
of  a  great  chimney  filled  one  corner,  and  numerous 
shelves  were  nailed  to  it.  High,  brass-handled  chests 
and  drawers  hid  the  unplastered  Avails.  Live-geese 
feathers  gave  a  lightsome  fliiffiness  to  the  high  bed, 


60  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

where  a  linen  sheet  was  smoothly  turned  over  a  white 
and  indigo  coverlet,  woven  fox-and-geese  pattern. 

Returning,  she  filled  the  pitcher  on  the  high  window- 
sill,  the  lower  sash  being  thrown  up  and  held  by  a 
wooden  button. 

The  kitchen  was  wainscotted  to  the  beams.  Two 
unbanded  linen  wheels  with  full  distaffs  waited  under 
the  north  windows. 

When  'Lisbeth  was  carrying  the  nosegay  to  the  fore- 
room  Mrs.  Lane  called,  "  You  may  slice  this  curd  (  fore 
you  sew  in  the  lining,  'Lisbeth." 

A  wooden  tub  sat  in  the  entry;  and  across  it  were 
four  thin  slats,  mortised  together,  each  two  crossing  the 
other  at  right  angles,  the  whole  named  "  cheese-tongs." 
Upon  them  sat  a  square,  shallow  cheese-basket,  lined 
with  a  sheer  strainer  that  held  the  amber  curd.  She 
took  a  thin,  sharp  knife,  and  drew  it  gently  through 
the  soft  mass,  time  after  time,  streams  of  whey  follow- 
ing each  delicately  drawn  seam,  until  the  curd  was  in 
blocks  half  an  inch  square.  When  it  was  properly 
finished,  she  asked,  — 

"  Where  is  the  caraway  seed,  Mrs.  Lane  ?  Louisa 
wants  me  to  pick  over  some." 

"  In  that  cupboard  behind  you,  right  side,  in  that 
broken  teapot.  Set  right  down  on  the  doorstep  where 
it  is  cool,  and  pin  up  them  spandy  clean  sleeves  out  of 
the  dust." 

At  that  moment  Phil  Harmon  came  round  the  house, 


At  Mrs.  Lane's  61 

sauntering  up  to  the  curb  with  a  free-and-easy  air,  and 
regarding  the  scene  quite  approvingly,  as  he  said  "  morn- 
in',"  to  no  one  in  particular.  Once  for  all,  he  really  did 
not  love  'Lisbeth,  but  her  distant  kindliness  piqued  him. 

What  right  had  she  to  hold  herself  aloof  from  him, 
who  owned  flocks  and  herds.  He  had  asked  Mr.  Wil- 
son's consent  to  marry  her  because  he  coveted  the  love- 
liness that  ranked  itself  so  far  away.  He  would  like  to 
see  those  beautiful  hands  milking  his  cows.  Affairs 
would  have  been  different  had  Mr.  Wilson  compre- 
hended the  real  situation ;  but  he  believed  that  fatal 
heresy  that  a  woman  once  married  would  be  content, 
and  trusted  Philip,  who  was  himself  half-blinded  by 
his  pride. 

Mr.  Wilson  was  a  bigot,  unmeaningly  and  unknow- 
ingly ;  he  simply  strove  to  save  his  child  to  his  own 
church,  and  to  such  meagre  chance  of  heaven  as  election 
afforded. 

Two  such  men  combined  against  the  peace  of  one  girl 
put  her  in  sorrowful  plight. 

Curious  though  it  was,  yet  as  he  gazed  Philip  feared 
that  troubled,  downcast  maiden.  Had  she  risen  and 
stretched  one  hand  towards  him  he  would  have  started 
off  down  the  lower  field,  regardless  of  flower-beds  or 
hills  of  early  potatoes.  He  chose  no  speech  with  her, 
but  asked  Mrs.  Lane,  — 

"  Where's  your  man  ?  '' 

"Down  in  the  cornfield,  hoeing." 


62  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Where's  John  ?  " 

"Spying  on  me,"  thought  the  girl,  and  she  was  ex- 
actly correct. 

"To  Squire  Baker's  office,  where  he's  been  going  on 
two  years,  fur's  I  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  I'll  find  Mr.  Lane."  She  would  have  inquired  if  his 
mother  was  coming  that  afternoon ;  but  the  King's 
hounds  bounded  under  the  well-sweep  and  up  to  a  stone 
bowl  full  of  water  beside  the  curb,  followed  closely  by 
their  master,  who  grounded  arms,  leaned  against  a  door- 
post, and  pulled  his  slouch  hat  off,  exclaiming,  — 

"Phew!  we've  had  a  run,  the  dogs  an'  me." 

Mrs.  Lane  smiled  peculiarly,  asking,  — 

"  Why,  Mr.  King,  you  are  out  hunting  again.  What 
in  the  world  is  becoming  of  your  corn  ?  " 

"  Corn's  dewin'  well.  Crop'll  be  'round  this  fall  all 
right.  'Praps  not  so  many  ears,  ner  so  big  as  your'n, 
but  there's  allus  'nuff.  Fact  is,  Mis'  Lane,  I  reckon  the 
Lord  'lects  tew  tend  tew  ole  fools  like  me,  an'  I  'spect 
He  will.  I've  been  linin'  a  bee  this  mornin',  an'  I  took 
my  gun  along  fer  kingbirds.  Ye  see,  they're  worryin' 
our  hives,  an'  bees  need  as  much  'tention  as  corn  or 
'taters.  Let  a  kingbird  find  a  bee  out  on  a  clover-head, 
wet  with  dew,  why,  the  little  'tarnal  '11  set  right  down 
on  a  herd's  grass  stalk  nigh  tew  it,  an'  swing,  an'  throw 
up  his  head,  a-singin'  till  all  creation  seems  chock  full 
on't,  then,  whist !  he  jumps  like  a  flash  an'  there's  a  bee 
less  every  time." 


At  Mrs.  Lane's  63 

"  Did  Phil  go  out  with  you  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Phil  !  he  ?  "  pointing  to  a  head  disappearing  down 
the  sloping  field.  "  That  is  the  curiousest  idee  I  ever 
laid  hold  on.  He  couldn't  line  a  woodchuck  if  it  bur- 
rerred  thirty  rod  off." 

Both  women  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Lane  said,  — 

"  If  you  are  done  picking  over  them  seeds,  won't  you 
give  Mr.  King  a  nutcake,  an'  a  piece  of  ole  cheese. 
Coffee-pot  is  by  the  fire,  'Lisbeth." 

"  Sit  here  by  this  cool  window,"  'Lisbeth  said,  as  they 
entered  the  kitchen.  "Did  you  find  the  wild  swarm 
you  were  tracking  ?  " 

His  eyes  kindled.  "  That's  just  like  a  gal,  —  trackin' 
a  bee  !  Dy'e  think  he  leaves  footprints  in  posies  ?  " 

"  Line  a  bee,  is  it  ?  One  seems  as  sensible  as  the 
other  to  me." 

'  "  No,  little  gal ;  ye  see,  when  a  bee  is  loaded  with 
honey,  an'  starts  for  home,  it  flies  Straight  as  sight.  If 
ye  want  to  find  whatsomever  it  lives  in,  take  a  pot  of 
honey  an'  set  it  down  in  the  woods  an'  watch.  Soon 
a  bee  comes,  takes  what'  he  can  carry,  an'  flies  home 
true  as  any  line.  Foller  him  tew  a  tree  or  rock  with 
your  eye,  fur  as  you  can  see ;  then  pick  up  the  honey 
an'  set  it  down  again  by  what  you  sighted.  It'll  come 
back,  an'  bime-by  you'll  lead  up  tew  what  you're  lookin' 
for." 

The  King  had  been  pondering  upon  Phil's  doggedly 
wilful  appearance  as  he  came  under  the  well-sweep. 


64  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

He  slowly  smoothed  his  shiny  head  as  he  thought  it 
over. 

Phil  was  usually  busy  such  days,  when  hoeing  was 
driven  by  haying.  He  queried  over  it  while  eating  his 
nutcakes,  and  finally  decided  to  find  out  one  thing  cer- 
tain, proceeding  immediately  in  his  way. 

"  Them's  plaguey  good  fried  cakes,  'Lisbeth.  Helpin' 
Loizy  with  her  quiltin',  be  ye  ?  I  wonder  if  that  was 
Phil's  errant  tew  ?  " 

She  replied  absently,  — 

"  No,  I  don't  s'pose  it  was." 

"  Nor  I  nuther.  Look  a-here,  do  you  like  tew  have 
him  roun'  ?  Is  he  makin'  trouble  anyways  ?  " 

She  was  silent,  and  he  continued  soon,  — 

"  David  King  don't  meddle  ner  make  ;  but  he  'mem- 
bers the  blessin'  you  brought  tew  his  house,  an'  he  can't 
see  sorrer  comin'  tew  you  that  he  can  hender." 

Still  she  was  dumb. 

"  Gal,  you  know  David  King  can  be  trusted,  an'  if 
you  call  he'll  hello  back  every  time.  I'm  feared  of 
sunthin'.  S'posen  Phil  Harmon  sh'd  ask  you  tew  merry 
him  ?  " 

She  gazed  at  him,  gray  and  flinty,  replying  with  un- 
quivering  voice,  — 

"  He  never  will  dare,  Uncle  David  ;  "  then  slowly,  "  I 
should  hate  him." 

"  Then  don't  let  nothin'  ner  nobody  drive  you  tew  it. 
I'd  ruther  see  you  dead,  fer  I  sh'd  know  you  wan't 


At  Mrs.  Lane's  (>•"> 

twenty  years  dyin',  and  you'd  be  in  God's  worl'  some- 
wheres,  though  I  don't  rightly  see  what  would  become  of 
the  rest  of  us." 

The  girl's  thankful  look  rewarded  that  faithful  soul. 
Hearing  a  step  in  the  entry,  he  called  out,  — 

"  Fust-rate  fried  cakes  an'  coffee,  Miss  Lane.  I'll 
'member  'em  when  I  take  up  the  swarm.  Come  'long, 
pups,  'less  mother  won't  roast  no  p'taters  for  us." 

Louisa  appeared  with  some  quilting-frames,  brought 
from  the  loom  shed. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  I've  got  all,  I  guess.     Frames  — 
they  need  the  flannel  round  'em  fastened  in  a  few  places 
—  lining,  and  wool.     I  laid  some  thrums  on  a  chair  in 
the  other  room." 

Somehow,  as  'Lisbeth  sewed  the  lining  in,  and  spread 
the  wool  pats,  she  was  happy.  Reliance  on  a  powerful 
ally  made  the  outlook  quite  hopeful ;  so  she  sang  at  her 
work,  while  Louisa  finished  the  tart  covers,  and  Mrs. 
Lane  emptied  the  creamy  white  curd  into  the  cheese- 
hoop,  and  put  it  into  the  press. 

"  I  guess  we  will  have  our  dinner  a  little  early,'4  said 
she  to  Louisa,  coming  in,  bringing  a  large  noggin  of  pota- 
toes, and  burying  them  in  red-hot  embers  between  the 
andirons. 

Opening  the  fore-room  door,  'Lisbeth  called,  "  Now, 
if  you  both  will  help  me,  our  quilt  will  soon  be  ready." 

The  quilting-frames,  fastened  securely  together  by 
gimlets,  one  at  each  corner,  lay  upon  the  floor,  with  the 


66  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

lining  sewed  in  and  wool-pats  laid  upon  it,  ready  for  the 
patchwork.  They  raised  the  frames  to  four  kitchen 
chairs,  one  under  each  gimlet,  thus  supporting  the  work 
conveniently  for  the  quilters.  They  spread  the  patch- 
work on  so  deftly  that  no  pat  was  misplaced,  and  pinned 
it  evenly  all  around  the  edge,  and  it  was  ready.  'Liz- 
beth  cut  a  fine  white  skein  of  linen  and  one  of  blue  into 
small  hanks,  braided,  to  prevent  snarling,  and  laid 
them,  along  with  some  boughten  red  thread,  needle- 
books,  wax,  and  shears  upon  it ;  then  she  moved  the 
flowers  to  the  top  of  a  low,  spindle-legged  bureau.  Mrs. 
Lane  wiped  the  gilt-framed  looking-glass,  and  pushed 
Bunyan's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  Foxe's  "  Book  of 
Martyrs  "  farther  on  the  claw-footed  table,  with  mosaic 
of  fine  woods  round  its  bevelled  edge. 

After  a  final  survey  of  the  room  they  left  the  discon- 
solate mourning  woman,  pictured  above  the  fireplace,  to 
watch  for  merry  matrons  and  maids  who  should  sur- 
round the  quilt. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

QUILTING 


BY  one  o'clock  they  began  arriving.  Mrs.  King, 
Mary,  and  Mrs.  Harmon  walked  up  through  pasture  and 
field,  meeting  the  Kidder  women  from  the  hill  in  the 
dooryard,  and  waited  for  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Lettice,  who 


Quilting  67 

were  across  the  ledge ;  and  just  behind  them  Mrs.  Wil- 
lard  and  her  daughter  Ruth,  with  Mrs.  Batchelder, 
walked  beside  Mrs.  Batchelder's  saddle,  or  strayed  back 
a  little  to  Mrs.  Smith's  boat-shaped  wagon,  bringing 
herself  and  Lavina. 

Such  a  chatter  as  there  was,  such  a  mild  and  self- 
composed  to-do  as  they  came  in  and  put  on  their  caps. 

"  Take  some  chairs,"  said  Mrs.  Lane.  Here,  Mis' 
Kidder,  you  look  warm,  take  this  peacock  fan ;  and 
Mis'  King,  here's  this  gray  goose  one.  Aunt  Seth 
looks  as  cool  as  a  cucumber." 

Mrs.  Batchelder  (Aunt  Seth)  wore  stiff,  double-plaited 
cap  frills,  which  emphasized  her  incisive  speech.  They 
all  felt  much  respect  for  that  black-haired,  reliant  per- 
son, and  blue-eyed  Uncle  Seth  adored  her  in  his  silent 
fashion. 

"  How  be  you  go  in'  tew  quilt  this  ?  "  inquired  one. 

"  Loizy  and  I  don't  skurcely  know.  Some  of  you 
help  us  out." 

They  surrounded  it,  and  one  advised  herring-bone, 
one  cat-a-coruered  work,  and  so  on.  Finally  Mrs.  Lane 
said,  "  Lettice,  you  plan  it." 

She  studied  the  quilt,  and  gave  an  opinion. 

"  If  this  was  mine,  Mis'  Lane,  I  sh'd  put  in  a  pine- 
tree  pattern  intew  these  large  blue  squares,  with  brick- 
red  corners  set  in  sasser  fashion,  an'  quilt  the  corners 
'cordin'  tew  their  shape.  As  tew  the  other  squares  of 
small  patchwork,  bias  is  as  good  as  any  way,  nothin'  '11 
show." 


68  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

She  and  Louisa  marked  prescribed  lines  and  curyes 
as  far  as  they  could  reach ;  the  women  passed  their 
snuffboxes,  and  then  drew  around  the  quilt.  Several 
were  left  out  of  work. 

"  Fact  is,"  observed  Aunt  Seth,  "  I  brought  some 
linen ;  nothin'  tew  dew  but  our  Dan  must  have  a 
stitched  bosom,  so  I  thought  if  we  couldn't  all  git  round 
the  quiltin'-frames  mebby  'Lisbeth  would  full  as  soon 
stitch." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  she.  "  Shall  I  trace  some  leaves 
on  the  edge  ?  " 

"Not  a  leaf.  As  I  tell  Seth,  childern  larn  struts 
and  furbelows  soon  'nuff.  I  want  jest  a  plain  back- 
stitch." 

Fine  needlework  was  considered  an  accomplishment, 
therefore  the  request  was  a  compliment  in  that  unique 
social  world,  where  living  was  co-operative  in  an  excel- 
lent sense. 

"  Let  every  one  of  you  be  mindful  of  the  things  of 
another,"  was  honored  as  a  strict  command  which 
hushed  every  family  if  one  suffered ;  which  brought 
women  home  at  dawn  pale  with  vigils  beside  a  sufferer's 
couch.  Everything  except  speech  was  free  to  a  needy 
soul  or  body.  The  joy,  sorrow,  success,  and  failure  of 
each  was  the  common  possession  of  all. 

"  Ruth  may  take  this  sleeve  and  sew  in  the  gusset 
and  fell  the  seams,  and  I'll  give  the  rest  some  harnesses 
to  mend,"  said  Mrs.  Lane. 


Quilting  69 

The  door  darkened,  yes,  darkened  ;  that  Avord  is  used 
advisedly.  All  persons,  men  and  women,  who  are  like 
the  fiery,  stub-nosed  old  maid  who  entered,  are  pre- 
ceded by  shadow  and  followed  by  gross  darkness.  She 
could  do  every  kind  of  work,  and,  bless  us  all,  how  she 
could  scold  ! 

She  was  a  Methodist,  more  to  be  odd  than  anything, 
Aunt  Seth  declared ;  but  no  matter  why,  she  was. 
Truly,  she  did  seem  to  be  crushed  forever  and  com- 
pletely, but  it  was  only  her  way.  She  hid  no  light 
under  a  bushel,  but  exhorted,  prayed,  shouted,  lost 
her  strength,  called  every  son  of  man  brother,  and 
each  of  womankind  sister,  till  everybody  was  sorry 
or  wicked,  or  both.  Mr.  Wilson  said  he  did  "not 
give  her  credit  for  piety,  it  was  just  to  be  aggravat- 
ing.' 

Aunt  Rachel,  a  sweet,  disappointed  woman,  declared 
mildly  that  she  "  would  ruther,  any  day,  sit  by  a  clump 
of  Canady  thistles  than  Huldy  Moses."  She  was  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  the  Moses  family  and  resided  with 
them. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Huldy,"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  and  a  nod 
all  round  the  quilt  greeted  her. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Sister  Lane,  Sister  Wilson,  I  hope 
I  see  you  well.  Don't  git  up,  Sister  Lane,  here's  a 
chair ;  an'  I'll  hang  my  bonnet  on  the  post." 

She  nibbled  a  sprig  of  southernwood,  which  seerned 
most  appropriate. 


70  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  I  was  setting  these  spare  hands  to  mending  har- 
nesses, Huldy,"  remarked  Mis.  Lane. 

"  Anything,  Sister  Lane ;  it's  close  work,  but  I  don't 
wear  specs  yet,"  throwing  a  sidelong  glance  at  Aunt 
Rachel,  who  did. 

Mrs.  Lane  gave  her  a  harness  and  some  harness 
thread,  a  fine  double-and-twisted  linen  yarn.  She  took 
them,  inquiring,— 

"What  kind  of  a  pattern  are  you  going  to  weave, 
Sister  Lane  ?  " 

"  Bird's-eye,  most  likely,  or  fox-and-geese." 

"  I  s'pose  you'll  make  a  linen  web,  Sister  Wilson  ?  " 

"  We're  not  planning  to." 

Huldah  sighed,  a  habit  of  hers,  and  asked  'Lisbeth,  — 

«  Goin'  tew  the  'Cademy  this  fall,  Sister  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  I  met  your  boy  this  mornin',  Sister  Harmon,  an'  ast 
him  why  he  didn't  go  to  the  'Cademy  hisself." 

"  Phil !  our  Phil  go  to  the  'Cademy !    Well,  I  never ! " 

"  We're  ready  to  roll  up,"  broke  in  Mary  ;  and  the 
women  pushed  back,  chatted,  and  smelled  their  posies, 
while  the  girls,  superintended  by  Louisa,  rolled  the 
quilt  over  the  frames  as  far  as  it  was  finished. 

Drawing  up  again,  Mrs.  Willard  inquired,  — 

"  Any  of  you  folks  heerd  a  word  of  Cynthy  Brown,  — 
she  'twas  —  married  Dave  Smart  ?  " 

"  She  was  a  sweet  pritty  bride  as  can  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Harmon,  "when  they  'peared  out.  I  see  for  myself." 


Quilting  71 

"I  have,"  answered  Mrs.  Oliver.  "You  know  the 
Browns  air  kinder  in  our  family.  Rubin's  fust  cousin 
married  hern,  —  let  me  see,  yes ;  that  is  the  how  on't. 
They're  gittin'  pooty  much  down  at  the  heel,  tenerate. 
The  props  seem  tew  be  •  tumblin'  round  'em  dretful 
fast." 

"  Props  don't  help  them  that  can't  stand  'thout  prop- 
pin',"  said  Aunt  Seth  emphatically. 

"  She  ort  tew  knowed  better  than  tew  marry  him," 
pursued  Huldy.  "  He  allus  was  a  poor  stick,  nothin' 
tew  him  but  a  glib  tongue  an'  never  was.  'Sides  he'd 
courted  more'n  one  gal  'fore  she  ever  see  him,  that 
could  be  swore  to." 

Eunice  nudged  Lavina  and  both  tittered.  Huldah 
sighed  and  Mrs.  Batchelder  remarked,— 

"  Swearin'  is  master  ticklish  business,  as  I  tole  Seth 
when  he  was  bent  and  determined  on  givin'  in  testi- 
mony 'fore  the  squire  at  Plymouth,  'bout  Jones's  colt. 
One  fall  the  colt  didn't  come  in  from  paster'  with  his 
other  young  stock.  He  thought  he  see  it  goin'  down 
the  turnpike  in  a  drove  some  time  after,  and  asked  the 
drover  who  he  bought  it  of,  then  sued  the  man  who  sold 
it.  He  wanted  Seth  in  describin'  the  critter  tew  swear 
it  was  dark  red  an'  had  a  white  stripe  in  the  forrard, 
an'  not  another  white  hair  on  him.  I  tried  to  head 
Seth  off,  an'  tole  him  plain  Jones  hadn't  any  sich  colt. 
His  had  a  star  in  the  forrard,  one  white  foot,  and  I 
didn't  know  but  more.  But,  good  land !  'twant  no  use, 


72  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

not  a  mite.  He  flared  up  smart  as  tew  wimmin  tendin' 
tew  their  own  affairs,  an'  not  mixin'  up  with  law,  till  1 
was  completely  tuckered  out  an'  let  him  alone,  he  was  so 
high-headed  and  sot.  Summons  come,  an'  Court  mornin' 
he  was  ready  airly,  starched  bosom,  black  stock,  blue 
weddin'  coat,  brass  buttons  an'  all.  When  he  got  all  fixed 
up  I  says  to  him,  says  I,  '  Seth,  afore  you  make  a  fool  of 
yourself,  le's  smoke.'  He  give  me  a  middlin'  queer  smile, 
but  filled  the  pipes  agreeable  an'  lighted  'em.  We  hadn't 
smoked  skurcely  a  whiff  when  Jones's  boy  pranced 
through  our  cheese  room  entry  yellin',  '  Pa's  found  his 
colt.'  Then  I  spoke  up  to  the  boy,  says  I,  l  Star  in  the 
forrard  ?'  -—'  Yes,  ma'am,'  says  he.  '  One  white  foot  ? ' 
says  I.  '  Yes,  ma'am,'  says  he.  I  eyed  Seth,  and  he 
won't  forgit  it  tew  his  dyin'  day  ;  but  that  was  all  I 
said.  His  meet'n'  duds  come  off  quick  metre,  an'  he 
stomped  out  of  the  house.  I  followed  him  fur  as  our 
cheese  room,  carryin'  his  ole  white  hat  he'd  forgot,  an' 
heerd  him  mutter,  'Them  folks  air  the  alfiredest  set 
of  dumb  fools  I  ever  see,'  an'  I  didn't  blame  him  a 
grain." 

Again  the  quilt  was  rolled  up,  and  they  went  on  dis- 
cussing Aunt  Seth's  medical  skill,  Mrs.  Smith's  June 
butter,  Mrs.  Kidder's  tansy  cheese,  Euth's  fine  netting, 
and  so  on,  to  hope  of  daily  stages  and  the  great  fact 
that  four  weekly  newspapers  reached  the  district.  Mrs. 
Oliver  Kidder  said  that  Jake  Drake's  father  had  given 
him  his  freedom,  a  horse  and  cart,  and  some  runners, 


Quilting  73 

and  he  had  commenced,  teaming  to  Concord  and  back. 
Those  topics  were  momentous  ;  for  they  well  remembered 
when  all  mail  sent  to  northern  New  Hampshire  was 
carried  by  post-horses  once  in  two  weeks,  and  one  news- 
paper, so  infrequently  received,  was  carefully  carried 
from  house  to  house  and  read  as  a  rare  and  precious 
privilege.  About  four  o'clock  several  young  girls  went 
home  to  prepare  supper  for  their  men  folks,  leaving 
their  mothers  to  follow  them  at  evening.  It  was  then 
that  Huldy  and  Aunt  Seth  came  to  blows,  as  it  were, 
when  the  latter  asked,  — 

' "  Our  minister  will  come  round  before  long,  won't  he, 
Mis'  Wilson  ?  " 

"  To   catechise    the   children  ?     Yes,   soon,  he  said." 
A  short  sniff  and  long  sigh  preceded  Huldy's  ques- 
tion. . 
"  Is  there  trouble,  sister  ;   backslidin'  or  anything  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  backslidin',"  said  Aunt 
Seth,   "  once   in  grace,  allus  in  grace."     She  had  taken 
the  last  stitch  within  her  reach,  and  leaned  back  in  the 
high  rocking-chair,  pushed  her  spectacles  high  up  on  her 
forehead,  and  spoke  in  a  heavy  counter  voice. 

'•  Huldy,  you've  been  sisteriii'  an'  msiniwatin'  all 
round  the  lot  this  whole  blessid  afternoon.  Now,  I 
hain't  no  feelin'  as  tew  this  matter,  fur  as  Abbygil 
Batchelder  is  concerned,  not  a  mite  ner  grain ;  but  I 
must  mind  what's  writ,  stick  tew  the  law  none  of 
us  can  run  from,  that's  the  p'int." 


74  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

Huldy  put  on  a  lonesome  expression,  intended  to  be 
martyrlike ;  but  it  lacked  beatitude. 

"  Go  on,  Sister  Seth." 

"  I  want  tew  ask  a  few  p'inted  questions.  Did  this 
new  seek  come  fust  singin'  free  grace  ?  Did  they  fight 
Injuns,  an'  make  paths  through  old-growth  pines  ?  Did 
them  Methodists  set  fire  tew  trees,  pull  up  the  stumps, 
an'  dig  the  fust  crop  of  p'taters  that  growed  'mongst 
their  roots  ?  If  they  did,  none  of  my  folks  ner  Seth's 
ever  heerd  on't." 

"  Have  you  'tended  any  meet'n's,  Sister  Seth  ?  Do 
you  know  if  they  have  the  Sperit  or  not  ?  " 

"I  never  darkened  a  door  tew  a  Methodis'  meet'n', 
but  I've  heerd  all  I  want  tew.  We  can't  make  it 
out,  Seth  ner  me." 

"  Well,"  snapped  Huldah,  "  I  s'pose  you  can  say  what 
you're  mind  to  'cause  you're  'lected,  tenerate." 

"I  don't  b'leve  things  wantin'  tew,  an'  as  for  sayin' 
I'm  'lected,  no  sech  word  was  ever  spoke  by  me." 

She  swayed  meekly  back  and  forth  in  the  great 
rocking-chair,  humiliated  that  such  arrogance  was  im- 
puted to  her. 

"  It's  hard  judging,"  said  Mrs.  Lane ;  "  some  Methodis' 
have  lived  fit  for  copy." 

Aunt  Seth  knew  the  story  of  John's  parents,  and 
replied  very  gently,— 

"Yes,  Mis'  Lane,  sech  as  you  speak  on  is  'lected 
whether  or  no." 


Quilting  To 

The  women  moved  away  when  the  last  rows  of  quilt- 
ing were  reached,  and  all  the  girls  engaged  in  fair  contest ; 
for  whoever  set  the  last  stitch  would  be  married  first. 

"  'Lisbeth's  hanging  back,"  complained  saucy  Eunice. 

"  We  all  know  who  she's  thinking  of,"  remarked 
Huldah  with  a  very  sour  countenance  and  a  shivering 
sigh  over  such  folly. 

'Lisbeth  had  been  given  a  long  chalk  line  by  Mrs. 
Lane,  and  came  near  being  last,  so  there  was  sincere  con- 
gratulation in  her  call  as  she  clipped  her  thread,  — 

"  There,  Eunice,  shake  the  quilt,  and  we  will  all  be 
at  the  wedding." 

They  stopped  when  it  was  partly  ripped  from  the 
frames,  at  hearing  a  step  in  the  entry,  a  salutation  to 
Louisa;  and,  gazing  at  the  doorway,  their  faces,  even 
Huldah's,  brightened,  for  John  May  hew  was  framed 
for  a  second  there.  He  was  tall,  finely  built,  with  «, 
smoothly  shaven  face,  clear  complexion,  dark-brown 
hair,  having  a  glint  of  gold  in  it,  round  his  fine  white 
forehead  and  temples ;  eyes  brown,  keen,  constant,  and 
sunny ;  and  nose  both  delicate  and  strong. 

Free  grace  and  foreordination  made  way  before  one 
so  true.  He  received  the  loving  favor  of  all  by  right 
of  eminent  domain.  The  scion  of  a  courageous,  G6M- 
fearing  ancestry,  his  strength  was  chastened  and  refined 
by  the  bitter  sorrow  of  his  boyhood.  Strange  how  it  is 
that  by  wasting,  white-hot  conflagrations  the  spirit-fields 
are  fallowed  for  rare  harvests  ! 


76  '  Lisbeth  Wilson. 

After  speaking  to  his  aunt  he  inquired  about  all 
the  neighbors,  especially  Uncle  Seth's  rheumatism,  the 
King,  his  bees  and  hounds ;  begged  a  leaf  of  sweet 
mint  from  Kuth's  bodice ;  helped  shake  and  fold  the 
finished  quilt;  tossed  a  ball  of  yarn  back  and  forth 
with  Eunice,  and  invited  himself  to  her  wedding.  If 
he  heard  a  sweet  voice  talking  to  Louisa  in  the  kitchen 
no  one  perceived  it.  When  his  uncle  and  the  boys 
came  to  their  supper,  Mr.  Lane  asked  him  to  go  down 
to  Mr.  Wilson's,  and  say  if  he  would  help  them  finish 
hoeing  the  next  day,  they  would  help  him  when  he 
began  haying.  After  the  men's  supper  was  cleared 
away,  the  long  table  was  quickly  set  with  creamy, 
green-sprigged  china.  Platters  of  cold  meat,  deli- 
cately browned  biscuits,  crimson  tarts,  and  dark  plum- 
cake,  made  a  notable  feast,  presided  over  by  Mrs. 
Lane,  as  she  poured  cups  of  balmy  green  tea,  writh 
a  dignity  that  would  be  faultless  anywhere.  When 
the  sun  hung  low  above  Sugarloaf,  John  saddled  their 
horses  and  led  them  to  the  stepping-stone,  or  fastened 
the  clumsy  traces  to  their  arklike  Avagons ;  trimmed 
two  stout  sticks  for  the  Kidder  women ;  promised  to 
go  here  and  there  in  cool  evenings ;  and  finally  those 
remaining  stood  in  charming  old-fashioned  way  watch- 
ing roads  and  fields  adown  and  across  which  guests 
were  departing,  then  smiled  regretfully  at  one  another 
because  so  happy  a  day  was  done. 

"Now,"    he    said   to    'Lisbeth,    who    leaned    against 


Quilting  77 

the  curb,  calash  in  hand,  "  I'll  go  with  you  if  I 
may." 

She  smiled  gravely,  and  they  walked  silently  along 
over  the  chord  ant  ledge,  down  the  road  to  the  half- 
way mark,  where  many  a  time  he  had  pulled  the 
roses  down  within  her  reach,  and  broken  palm-ferns 
for  her  fans,  and  opened  spiny  beechnut  burrs  for 
her ;  then  he  said,  intending  to  declare  his  love,  — 

"  Come  to  the  old  seat,  'Lisbeth." 

They  went  together  among  the  birches,  under  the 
sweetbrier,  and  leaned  against  the  bended  trunk. 
Gold  and  rose  and  violet  flung  flaming  banners  up 
the  western  sky ;  touched  the  trees  overhead  and  round- 
about ;  mellowed  fields  and  verdure-clad  hills ;  glowed 
on  the  mountains,  and  threw  its  gorgeous  blazonry 
deep  into  the  very  heart  of  the  Pond. 

He  understood  what  love  of  independence,  what  de- 
sire for  freedom  as  her  brothers  -  were  free,  what  shy 
high  spirit,  informed  that  girl ;  he  perfectly  under- 
stood the  strong  personality  of  that  womanhood ;  but 
still  he  asked  no  more  than  he  gladly,  proudly  gave. 
It  was  a  life  for  a  life. 

What  he  said  straightfoinvardly  and  simply,  was,  — 

"  'Lisbeth,  I  love  you,"  unconsciously  putting  out  a 
hand  and  brushing  back  a  curling  lock  blown  across 
her  brow.  For  a  moment  her  steady  eyes  shone  into 
his  own,  searching,  challenging  a  soul  that  dared  de- 
mand return  of  love  from  her;  then  they  grew  liquid 


78  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

soft,  making  answer  fair  and  true,  but  her  lips  only 
said,  "  0  John ! "  Then  she  grew  pale  and  cold,  and 
turned  away.  He  expected  hesitation  at  relinquishing 
freedom,  but  not  that  manner ;  she  was  actually  going 
away  from  him. 

"  Have  you  no  word  for  me,  not  one  ?  " 

"No,"  she  sternly  replied. 

He  laid  a  hand  upon  her  shining  hair. 

"  I  saw  an  answer  when  you  looked  at  me  but  now." 

"  It  was  folly  only." 

"'Lisbeth,  it  was  the  veriest  truth  of  your  soul." 

"  It  cannot  be ;  you  know  it  cannot  be.  My  father 
would  see  us  both  dead  first.  What  right  can  you 
urge  to  him  in  asking  my  life  ? v 

"  This,  'Lisbeth,  that  I  gave  you  mine  unasked,  and 
am  glad  that  it  is  so  bestowed.  My  right  is  God- 
given.  He  alone  can  cancel  my  just  claim." 

He  was  gazing  straight  into  those  proud  eyes,  and 
she  felt  that  so  he  would  have  claimed  a  disputed 
crown  had  he  been  born  to  it. 

"Whether  your  father  consents  is  nothing  now. 
Answer  for  yourself,  'Lisbeth." 

She  shrank  against  a  tree.  He  went  close,  and 
smoothed  the  wavy  tresses,  saying,  — 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  this  blessing,  dear,  but  I 
have  coveted  it  for  longer  than  I  can  tell.  I  remem- 
ber nothing  to  the  contrary.  If  I  dream  of  legal 
success,  you  are  part  of  the  vision.  If  I  hope  for 


Quilting  79 

honor,  the  best  thought  of  all  is  you  will  be  a  proud 
wife ;  and  I  am  poor  indeed  if  I  cannot  win  your  love. 
After  all,  I  shall. live  and  die  a  beggar,  'Lisbeth." 

She  raised  her  head.  He  had  taken  a  step  backward, 
the  caressing  hand  fallen  at  his  side,  his  noble  features 
turned  to  the  melting  heavens,  seemingly  unmindful  of 
her.  What  right  had  she  to  wound  him  so,  Avhen  he 
was  so  chivalric  and  true,  comeliest  of  all  she  had  ever 
known,  and  exalted  as  to  character,  yet  winningly  gra- 
cious ?  Should  she  hide  her  heart  from  him,  and  make 
him  a  perpetual  beggar  ?  No ;  her  father  might  do 
as  pleased  him,  .but  he  should  know  the  truth.  She 
touched  his  sleeve,  and  whispered,  "  John."  The  call 
was  tremulous  as  summer  winds  across  the  dewy  clovers. 
His  gaze  fell  full  to  her  shy,  radiant  face,  and  great  joy 
illumined  his ;  for  he  saw  the  perpetual  miracle  of  love 
was  wrought  in  her  sweet  soul. 

There  was  no  speech  between  them  for  a  little  while ; 
then  with  the  lofty  serenity  of  'one  who  takes  a  delib- 
erate and  irrevocable  oath,  he  said,  "  Till  death  us  do 
part ; "  and  soon  they  went  hand  in  hand  through  the 
glorious  dusky  eve  toward  the  Wilson  farmhouse. 


80  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTER   IX 

MR.    BENSON 

THERE  was  no  regular  Methodist  preaching  at  Plym- 
outh village ;  but  occasionally  an  evening  service  was 
held  in  a  hall  on  Haverhill  pike,  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill  above  Russell's  store. 

Bishop  Hedding,  grand  and  saintly,  had  nearly  lost 
his  life  proclaiming  the  Word  among  those  hills ;  and 
close  by  where  he  was  so  ill,  a  neat  brick  church  had 
risen  in  a  shady  nook  near  Eben  Blodgett's  at  West 
Plymouth.  Before  it  was  built,  Mr.  Blodgett's  house  or 
barn  had  been  for  almost  twenty  years  a  stated  preach- 
ing station  on  one  side  of  the  village,  and  Mr.  Mudgett's 
in  Holderness  on  the  other. 

Methodism  was  unfashionable  all  about  there.  One 
blessing  it  enjoyed,  the  friendship  of  Judge  Livermore, 
who  resided  across  the  river  from  Plymouth,  and  was 
a  republican  lord  paramount.  He  was  a  devout  Episco- 
palian, and  regarded  Methodists  as  first  cousins ;  some- 
what down  at  the  heel,  perhaps,  but  still  belonging  to 
the  family. 

The  fact  of  severe  antipathy  to  the  new  sect  remained, 
however,  and  was  strengthened  by  Huldy  Moses  with 
her  sharp  tongue,  and  by  boisterous  men  like  her  third 


Mr.  Benson  81 

cousin  Israel,  who,  finding  both  speech  and  grace  free, 
shouted  their  appreciation  much  after  the  manner  of 
enthusiastic  militia-men  who  massed  under  their  cap- 
tain's window  muster  mornings  before  daylight,  and 
fired  tremendous  blank  cartridges  for  the  twofold  pur- 
pose of  waking  him  up,  and  of  reasserting  their  own 
freedom.  To  be  sure,  all  churches  were  burdened  by 
faulty  members;  but  one  so  radically  new  as  the  Wes- 
leyan  was  much  despoiled  by  any  inconsistency. 

Men  and  women  from  leading  circles  —  that  is,  from 
the  controlling  denomination  —  came  slowly  to  its  fold 
and  faith. 

It  was  not  considered  aristocratic  nor  good  form  to 
be  a  Methodist,  simply  because  ruling  people  were  Cal- 
vinist  to  the  backbone  ;  and  the  Calvinists  considered 
the  miracle  of  their  planting  and  upspringing  here  posi- 
tive proof  that  themselves  alone  were  heirs  to  spiritual 
dominion  in  the  country,  and  by  parity  of  reasoning  to 
temporal  riches  and  power.  They  tolerated  no  rival 
doctrine,  and  only  once  in  a  Avhile  were  they  bereft  of 
a  valuable  member,  who  was  influenced  to  such  action 
by  that  moving  sympathy  which  is  developed  in  fine- 
grained minds  towards  a  cause  having  for  its  object 
the  betterment  of  humanity  —  not  an  elect  few,  but 
all. 

Besides,  there  was,  and  please  God  always  will  be, 
a  fellow-feeling  for  the  under  dog,  provided  he  be  an 
honest  and  respectable  one,  whether  he  be  a  social,  civil, 


82  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

political,  or  scientific  canine.  Such  an  one  never  dies. 
He  may  have  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  he  will  live,  grow, 
and  be  a  better  and  bigger  dog  because  of  his  battles. 

Lawyers  as  a  class  were  kindlier  than  any  other. 
Love  for  fair  argument  and  free  expression  of  opinion 
made  them  often  greatly  helpful,  court-houses  being 
frequently  opened  to  meetings.  Plymouth  was  in  a 
comparatively  serene  and  Christian  state  from  the  fact 
that  the  pastor  was  son  to  one  of  Whitefield's  friends, 
and  he  inherited  a  spirit  of  toleration. 

Lenity  was  confined  to  negatives  mostly  ;  as,  for  in- 
stance, Mr.  Benson  preached  in  the  Hill  schoolhouse 
the  Sunday  after  the  quilting,  not  exactly  by  consent, 
but  because  no  one  objected. 

A  daytime  Sabbath  service  occurred  very  rarely ;  and 
it  brought  from  long  distances  those  who  accepted  the 
new  faith,  together  with  others  whose  hearts  needed  the 
balsam  of  hope. 

The  circuit-rider  was  new  to  them  and  to  the  State. 

He  was  a  man  of  ready  and  abundant  humor,  like 
most  of  his  class ;  for,  though  one  said  of  an  itinerant 
preacher  that  "  he  could  not  pray  if  the  wind  was  in  the 
north-east/'  and  Father  Taylor  recorded  of  another  that 
"  though  he  was  a  leader  and  commander  in  Israel, 
there  were  times  when  he  was  all  pikery  and  worm- 
wood," such  men  were  uncommon  among  them. 

Service  was  set  for  one  o'clock,  and  by  a  little  past 
twelve  those  who  had  journeyed  many  miles  began  ar- 


Mr.  Benson  83 

riving  singly,  in  groups,  on  foot  and  horseback,  and  in 
lumbering  wagons ;  coming  up  the  hill  from  the  turn- 
pike, down  from  its  summit  under  cool  maples,  along 
the  Bristol  highway  that  tapped  the  Hill  road  by  the 
schoolhouse,  across  pastures  and  fields. 

Saddles  and  harnesses  were  thrown  over  the  wall  here 
and  there ;  horses  were  tethered  -to  bar-posts,  trees,  and 
bushes.  Then  the  people  grouped  on  shadowed  stones, 
fringed  by  brakes  and  clumps  of  hardhack  and  sweet- 
fern;  the  women  opened  their  baskets,  and  all  took 
luncheon,  while  they  inquired  after  each  other's  health, 
children,  and  crops,  or  discussed  important  questions 
of  spiritual  welfare,  personal  and  churchly. 

A  couple  of  women  crossed  the  road  and  went 
through  the  bars  into  shade  and  coolness.  They  sat 
upon  a  fallen  tree,  and  talked  low,  with  a  far-away  air. 
Their  white  leghorn  bonnets  were  lined  with  black  silk, 
and  tied  with  black  ribbon. 

There  had  been  no  compromise  with  Grandmother 
Wilson's  cap-border  that  morning  —  no  attempt  at  any. 
It  had  its  own  way  from  its  first  stately  shake  as  she 
emerged  from  her  room  at  breakfast-time,  clad  in  black 
bombazine,  till  it  finally  settled  after  a  grand  fashion 
into  the  deep  bonnet  that  barely  showed  above  the 
back  seat  of  the  wagon  as  Mr.  Wilson  drove  out  of 
the  dooryard,  leaving  Lettice  and  Dorothy  alone.  She 
cast  one  long  look  across  the  meadow  to  the  opposite 
hill,  as  if  searching  for  some  sign  of  dissent  to  the 


84  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

heresy  about  to  be  proclaimed,  or  a  token  of  ill-omen 
in  the  smiling  sky. 

She  had  drilled  Dorothy  in  a  catechism  lesson,  and 
left  her  seated  in  the  east-room  with  back  to  doors 
and  windows,  till  she  should  memorize  a  psalm,  and 
repeat  it  to  Lettice  without  mistake. 

Golden-belted  bumblebees,  brilliant  humming-birds, 
fretted  and  called  outside  among  the  flowers,  but  she 
kept  to  her  task  till  it  was  done;  then  she  moved 
her  little  red  chair  close  to  Lettice  by  the  vine-trel- 
lised  door. 

Mrs.  Willard  and  Ruth  started  for  meeting  quite 
early.  They  spoke  a  good-morning  to  Lettice  and 
Dorothy  as  they  passed,  going  down  through  the  lower 
field  by  a  farm  road  to  the  meadow.  They  .crossed 
the  brook  on  a  pine  log,  and  went  into  a  forest  by  a 
wood-path. 

Soon  Dorothy  saw  them  emerge  from  the  wood,  and 
cross  Mr.  Moses'  field  into  a  road  along  which  some 
people  were  travelling.  She  knew  them  well  enough, 
—  the  King  and  his  family,  dogs  and  all.  They  seemed 
walking  through  a  rosy  sea,  so  high  and  strong  the 
clover  billows  rose  and  fell. 

Two  little  children,  twins,  and  heirs  to  the  Moses 
estate,  were  chasing  butterflies  over  the  clover-patch, 
but  demurely  fell  into  line  when  their  parents  and 
Huldy  joined  the  church-going  group  as  it  passed  their 
door. 


Mr.  Benson  85 

She  watched  them  wind  around  the  white-birch  grove, 
and  climb  the  sloping  hillside  more  than  half  way  to  its 
summit,  then  turn  shortly  and  follow  a  beaten  path 
along  its  stone-specked  shoulder,  finally  disappearing  in 
the  far  dense  growth  of  sugar  maples.  Then  she  saw 
them  no  more. 

When  they  were  nearly  through  the  close-set  trees, 
so  as  to  see  the  red  schoolhouse  beyond,  men  and 
boys  moved  along,  while  women  and  girls  halted,  sat 
down  on  logs  and  stones,  removed  their  heavy  shoes, 
and  put  on  low  calfskin  or  morocco  ones.  One  or 
two  showed  handsome  knitted  patterns  on  ankle  and 
instep  of  thin,  fine  stockings.  Young  girls  fastened 
on  fresh  pantalets  like  their  dresses,  and  falling  to 
their  shoes. 

Putting  the  discarded  foot-gear  out  of  sight,  they 
went  briskly  to  the  bars,  where  Mr.  King  had  dropped 
a  middle  rail  to  let  them  through,  and  stood  by  to  put 
it  up.  Euth  pulled  a  wild  rose  growing  over  the  wall, 
and  tucked  it  into  her  bodice  as  she  went  by.  Across 
the  road  stood  the  schoolhouse,  in  a  tangle  of  high 
grass,  daisies,  buttercups,  thistles,  yarrow,  and  cara- 
way. They  broke  some  seeding  caraway  heads,  and 
took  them  in  to  nibble. 

The  King  sauntered  along,  giving  a  familiar  nod  to 
one  or  another  whom  he  knew,  the  hounds  following 
their  master  to  his  seat,  then  lying  down  between  him 
and  the  desk. 


86  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

As  in  the  Wilson  schoolhouse,  the  floor  rose  gradually 
from  front  bench  to  rear  wall. 

The  long  back  seat. was  devoted  to  older  scholars, 
flirtations,  and  heart-burnings.  It  was  also  the  singers' 
seat.  Thither  went  Huldy,  who  sang  counter  well  and 
truly ;  thither,  also,  went  sweet-voiced  Ruth,  her  mother 
sitting  by  a  window  that  looked  over  a  great  patch 
of  mulberry,  way  down  to  the  blue  ripples  of  New- 
found. 

Quaint  little  Mrs.  John  Smith  sat  on  the  girls'  low 
front  bench.  She  wore  a  leghorn  bonnet  lined  with 
white  silk ;  a  figured  lavender-colored  ribbon  went  over 
its  crown,  close  to  the  flaring  brim,  and  tied  under  her 
chin  by  a  carefully  knotted  double  bow. 

A  delicately  tinted  crape  shawl  was  thrown  loosely 
around  her  shoulders,  brightening  the  dark  taffeta  dress. 
She  carried  a  nosegay  of  sweetwilliams. 

Tall,  angular,  white-headed  Mrs.  Sampson  came  in 
with  taller,  sharper,  white-headed  Mr.  Sampson.  She 
sat  down  after  a  sideways  fashion,  near  Mrs.  Smith ;  he 
clattered  along,  stubbed  his  heavy  boot  toes  against  a 
floor  crack,  stepped  on  a  dog's  tail,  and  at  last  swung 
into  a  seat  next  the  front  one.  He  leaned  both  elbows 
on  the  desk  a  moment,  then  settled  back,  and  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff. 

The  women  generally  wore  big  bonnets,  their  best 
for  years,  with  long  veils  tied  over  them,  which  they 
drew  to  one  side,  or  folded  upon  them,  at  the  entry  door. 


Mr.   Benson  87 

Their  dresses  \Vere  made  with  short,  wide-belted  waists, 
large  sleeves,  and  narrow  skirts. 

Part  of  the  men  were  dressed  in  blue,  with  brass 
buttons,  and  some  wore  summer  frocks.  Girls  in  home- 
made dresses,  tiers,  pantalets,  and  cape  bonnets,  and 
bo}rs  in  spencers,  long  trousers,  and  mostly  barefooted, 
completed  the  hushed  audience  that  slowly  fanned  itself 
on  the  women's  side  with  peacock  or  soft  gray  goose 
feather  fans  to  the  music  of  a  stony  brook  under  the 
west  windows. 

Only  a  brief  time  before  service,  John  and  his  aunt 
passed  along  outside,  and  composedly  entered  the  full 
room.  A  slightly  increased  flutter  of  fans  showed  she 
was  an  unusual  attendant.  She  had  said  to  Mr.  Lane,  — 

"  I  guess  Loizy  and  the  boys  will  go  to  meeting  with 
you,  and  I'll  run  over  with  John." 

She  remarked  to  her  daughter  on  Saturday,  — • 

"  It  ain't  no  use,  Loizy,  not  a  mite,  to  set  stock-still. 
Old  roots  are  hard  to  dig  up,  and  changing  opinions  in 
Mr.  Wilson's-  mind  is  pretty  much  like  pulling  up 
knot-grass,  and  setting  vi'lets  in.  It  will  take  pretty 
stiddy  cultivation.  I'm  going  to  stand  by  Lucy's  boy, 
and  I  shall  begin  by  going  to  meeting  with  him  to- 
morrow." 

Her  calm  Friend  face,  gray  taffeta  gown  and  figured 
white  crape  shawl,  even  her  heavy  gold  beads,  were 
carefully  noted,  and  received  complimentary  mention 
after  meeting. 


88  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Soon  after  Mrs.  Lane  and  John  were  seated,  a  hand- 
some gray  horse  came  in  sight,  up  the  Bristol  road. 
His  rider  sat  him  like  a  guardsman,  and  saddle-bags 
depended  011  either  side  of  him. 

Two  brethren,  who  waited  outside,  hastened  up  as 
he  halted,  and  welcomed  him.  He  took  a  Bible  and 
hymn  book  from  the  saddle-bags,  and  went  in ;  while 
they  quickly  threw  the  saddle  off  the  horse,  removed 
the  wearying  bits,  tethered  him  to  a  strong  sapling 
by  a  long  halter,  and  followed  Mr.  Benson  into  the 
house. 

The  new  preacher  was  five  feet,  ten  inches  high, 
erect,  rather  slender.  Physical  and  mental  strength, 
endurance  and  energy,  those  shrewd  people  saw  in 
their  first  keen  search  of  him. 

Formerly  captain  of  a  military  company,  when  he 
dropped  sword  and  epaulets  for  holy  weapons,  he  still 
retained  a  martial  bearing  that  suited  him  well.  His 
countenance  was  very  thoughtful,  noble,  and  sternly 
mild. 

His  features  were  fine,  with  very  deep  bliie  eyes,  and 
broad  white  forehead  marked  by  heavy  brows.  His  dark 
hair  was  long,  according  to  custom,  combed  back  without 
parting,  and  rolled  over  the  coat  collar.  He  wore  a 
clerical  suit  of  black,  buttoned  closely,  and  a  high  white 
stock  about  his  neck. 

After  entering  he  kneeled  on  the  floor  by  the  teach- 
er's desk  a  moment,  then  rose,  and,  seating  himself, 


Mr.   Benson  89 

remained  with  folded  hands  till  the  last  loiterer  was 
still. 

He  read  the  hymn  beginning,  — 

"  Come,  ye  sinners  poor  and  needy." 

Every  eye  was  fastened  on  him  he  read  so  well.  A 
singing-master  of  the  valley  afterward  said  of  him  that 
"  his  voice  was  tuned  to  viols,  whether  he  sang  or 
spoke." 

A  good  choir  sang;  for  the  Pemigewassett  Musical 
Association  was  twenty  years  old,  and  its  instructors 
had  come  from  that  society. 

One  of  the  Smith  boys  led.  Nipping  the  tuning-fork 
between  his  teeth,  he  got  the  pitch,  and  gave  it  to  the 
rest,  Kuth  sounding  the  treble  note  from  him,  Huldy 
the  counter ;  and  finally  all  blended  together  as  they 
rose. 

After   prayer    and    reading   of    Scripture   they    sang 

again,  — 

"Ho!  every  one  that  thirsts  draw  nigh." 

During  the  last  verse  the  people  adjusted  themselves 
to  listening  attitudes. 

Mrs.  Smith  smoothed  her  long  lace  veil  from  bonnet 
to  shoulder,  and  down  under  her  arm,  then  folded  her 
hands  meekly  over  the  sweetwilliams,  while  others 
loosened  their  shawls  or  shut  their  fans.  On  the  men's 
side,  Mr.  Field  took  out  his  snuffbox,  rapped  it  very 
quietly  for  him,  helped  himself,  passed  it  across  the 


90    •  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

aisle  to  Mr.  Sampson,  nodded  invitations  to  several 
near  and  remote,  smothered  a  sneeze  in  his  immense 
meeting  bandanna,  and,  after  some  scuffling  of  feet, 
returned  the  box  to  his  trousers  pocket. 

When  the  hymn  ended,  young  men  gave  their  waist- 
coats a  pull,  touched  the  knots  of  their  wide  checked 
neckkerchiefs ;  one  of  the  hounds  turned  over,-  and  all 
was  silence. 

Mr.  Benson  had  improved  every  moment  studying 
those  people  so  new,  belonging  to  a  social  world  hitherto 
unknown  to  him.  At  last  he  concluded  that  they 
rightly  belonged  to  those  rocky,  sunkissed  hills,  those 
towering  pines  and  rooted  oaks,  to  those  rough  fields, 
where  herd's  grass  and  clover,  waiting  the  mower,  bil- 
lowed around  and  over  great  rocks.  They  seemed  to 
him  mighty,  honest,  purposeful,  yet  intensely  unique 
and  dramatic. 

He  rose  and  read  a  text,  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Wesley's  call  was  to  "  all  who  desire  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come  and  lay  hold  on  eternal  life ;  "  and  there 
his  successors  left  it. 

Free  grace,  free  will,  knowledge  of  sins  forgiven,  and 
a  life  meet  for  such  blessing,  they  daily  taught,  and  it 
was  the  substance  of  that  day's  sermon. 

Scarcely  an  amen  interrupted  till  the  preacher  sat 
down  and  folded  his  hands,  adding  soon  after,  in  a 
primitive,  Methodist,  good-time-for-all  fashion,  — 


Mr.  Benson  91 

"  There  is  liberty,  brethren  and  sisters ;  speak,  sing, 
or  pray." 

Israel  Smith,  who  felt  in  a  blind  way  that  something 
must  be  done,  drew  the  air  in  through  his  closed  teeth, 
and  shouted,  "  Hallelujah!  hallelujah!  glory  ! "  in  ascend- 
ing scale. 

Mr.  Benson  looked  searchingly  from  beneath  those 
heavy  brows  at  the  powerful  shouter. 

A  low,  distinct  hiss  from  one  of  two  young  men, 
strangers,  brought  his  head  erect,  and  gave  a  martial 
vibration  to  the  words,  "  There  is  liberty  for  worship 
here,"  accenting  the  word  worship.  It  sufficed. 

A  half-hour  was  occupied  by  various  exercises,  that 
grievous  error  of  the  new  sect,  allowing  women  to 
"  testify,"  obtaining  without  hindrance. 

Huldah,  who  possessed  a  deep  voice,  and  was  called 
gifted  in  prayer,  petitioned  heartily  for  the  "scoffers 
who  set  in  the  middle  seat  by  the  aisle."  The  amens 
to  her  request  were  numerous  and  forcible,  especially 
when  she  besought  that  "their  hearts  might  be  broke, 
till  the  fine  flax,  if  there  was  any,  should  be  separated 
and  made  fit  for  use." 

Their  speech,  especially  upon  religious  topics, 
abounded  in  figures  drawn  from  their  environment, 
and  even  their  language  excelled  that  day.  Song 
abounded,  and  many  a  saintly  hymn  floated  out  and 
died  away  on  far  breezes.  Subdued  amens  and  glories 
were  frequent,  for  it  was  a  day  in  a  thousand  to  the 
worshippers. 


92  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Notices,  not  being  regarded  as  a  devotional  exercise, 
were  given  after  meeting;  so  he  pronounced  the  bene- 
diction, and  then  said,  — 

"  Providence  permitting,  there  will  be  a  meeting  this 
evening  at  early  candlelight  in  Brother  Mudgett's  barn. 
Next  Sunday  I  shall  be  at  West  Plymouth,  and  in  six 
weeks  I  shall  be  here  again." 

Then  they  heartily  welcomed  him.  A  hand  touched 
John's  sleeve,  and  his  aunt  said,  — 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  and  speak  to  him." 

He  had  hoped  she  would;  but  in  accord  with  the 
respect  shown  toward  elder  people,  he  left  her  to  do  as 
she  was  minded.  He  stepped  quickly  into  the  open 
space,  saying,  — 

"  I  am  John  May  hew." 

"  John  !  the  name  of  one  beloved." 

"  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Lane." 
[   "I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Sister  Lane." 

A  contradictory,  cheery  smile  made  denial  of  such 
relationship. 

"  You  are  not  a  Methodist  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  mistrust  truth  is  truth,  and  I've  heard 
it  to-day.  Come  home  with  us  and  have  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  rest  till  it  is  cooler."  He  hesitated. 

"Tain't  a  mite  mor'n  half  a  mile  farther  to  where 
you  are  going,  and  there  is  a  nice  path  for  horses  the 
way  we  come,  John  and  me.  John,"  she  added  deci- 
sively, "  go  out  and  saddle  Mr.  Benson's  horse." 


Mr.  Benson  93 

She  waited  till  the  minister  picked  up  his  books ;  and 
when  they  came  out,  the  King,  who  had  helped  put  the 
beautiful  iron-gray  in  marching  order,  was  remarking 
while  pulling  up  the  last  buckle,  "  Travellin'  all  the 
time,  is  he,  an'  this  is  his  house  an'  home  ?  It's  a 
powerful  underpinning"  said  he,  drawing  back  and  ex- 
amining the  horse,  "  an'  master  well  built ;  but  as  tew 
the  rest,  it's  a  plaguey  poor  tavern  for  a  rainy  day,  with 
no  cover  'thout's  that  ole  white  surtout." 

Mr.  Benson,  smiling  gravely,  said,  "  I  look  for  a  bet- 
ter house,"  and  added,  packing  his  Bible  and  hymn 
book  into  the  saddle-bags,  which  contained  wearing- 
apparel,  books,  and  writing  materials,  "  You  see  my 
storehouses  are  safe  and  dry,  brother." 

John  introduced  them ;  and  the  King  remarked,  "  I'm 
a  middlin'  poor  brother,  that's  a  fact ;  but  I  liked  your 
sermon,  an'  sensed  it  tew." 

Again,  while  he  jumped  into  the  saddle,  those  prim 
people  crowded  around  him,  their  good-bys  following  to 
the  bars. 

Girls  and  women  going  towards  Mrs.  Lane's  had  pre- 
ceded the  preacher,  changed  their  shoes,  and  were  ready 
to  join  the  little  company  winding  slowly  along  down 
the  steep  hillside,  by  clumps  of  sweet  fern  and  feathery 
brakes.  The  King  took  delight  in  pointing  out  fields 
of  corn,  potatoes,  wheat,  and  oats,  explaining  their  dif- 
fering shades  of  green.  He  named  the  owners  of  farm- 
houses perched  on  rugged  hills,  or  nestled  at  their  feet, 


94  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

and  of  mountains  that  girded  the  lake.  He  told  the 
circuit-rider,  "  That  big  house  yender,  acrost  them  woods, 
a  little  lower'n  us,  an  seems  set  in  grass  an'  trees,  is 
Thomas  Wilson's.  He  ain't  reely  a  Metherdis,  that  can 
be  swore  tew,"  added  he  with  a  twinkling  eye. 

The  Moses  family  stopped  at  their  own  house,  and 
the  Kings  said  good-by  where  the  others  turned  into  the 
forest  road. 

Never  had  Mr.  Benson  passed  over  such  a  route, 
fringed  by  pale  marsh-rosemary  blooms  and  tiny  cells  of 
flowering  mosses,  the  rose-purple  of  nightshade,  and  gold- 
thread's trefoil  leaf.  Milk-white  heads  of  moose  wood 
flecked  the  brown  depths  far  and  near. 

Partridges  whirred  off  so  quickly,  they  only  caught 
the  flutter  of  speckled  wings ;  and  red-bonneted  wood- 
peckers flew  about,  laying  sharp  ears  against  gray  tree- 
boles  for  sound  of  any  wood  fretter ;  while  squirrels 
flitted  over  logs.  Mr.  Benson's  expressive  features  were 
radiant  with  enjoyment ;  even  the  iron-gray  blinked 
knowingly  at  the  happy  dwellers  in  those  bosky  coverts, 
as  they  whisked  or  flew  from  close  by,  where,  at  each 
step,  he  sank  below  the  fetlock  into  spongy  turf. 

After  tea  Mr.  Benson  sat  with  the  Lane  family  an 
hour  out  of  doors,  beside  stalks  of  bursting  hollyhocks ; 
then  he  besought  a  blessing  on  that  house,  and  went  his 
way,  John  walking  beside  his  saddle.  By  the  brook 
beyond  the  Wilson  house  they  met  'Lisbeth  and  her 
father,  who  had  walked  the  last  two  miles  of  hilly  road 


Haying  95 

coming  home  from  church  ;  and  John  introduced  them. 
Some  quality  in  Mr.  Wilson's  greeting,  John's  evident 
anxiety,  and  'Lisbeth's  slight  confusion,  carried  intelli- 
gence to  his  intuitive  mind,  and  he  felt  strangely  drawn 
to  thought  of  them.  Beyond  Mr.  Batchelder's  he  said,  — 

"  I  know  my  way  very  well  now,  and  you  must  go  no 
farther.  If  I  am  spared,  in  six  weeks  I  shall  see  you 
again." 

John  had  removed  his  hat,  and  stood  beside  the  saddle. 
Father  Benson  laid  a  hand  upon  his  head  and  blessed 
him. 


CHAPTER   X 

HAYING 

THE  Monday  after  the  meeting  Mr.  Wilson  began 
haying.  He  did  not  swing  a  scythe  beside  younger 
men,  but  he  carefully  overlooked  the  work. 

For  help  he  had  Mr.  Tyrrell,  who  worked  for  him 
year  in  and  out,  and  two  young  men  from  across  the 
pond,  engaged  for  haying  and  harvesting. 

"Wholesome  an'  gritty,  well-lookin'  an'  mannerly 
fellers,"  Lettice  said. 

His  extra  men  were  Francis  and  Robert  Lane,  Phil 
Harmon,  and  John  Mayhew.  Mr.  Wilson  took  them  to 
the  starting  point  before  six  o'clock  that  morning. 

"  This  is  goin'  to  be  a  great  hay-day,"  he  said.     "  We'll 


96  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

take  the  orchard  first;  this  timothy  is  jest  ripe.  Can 
you  mow  a  square  piece  up  to  the  Injy  wheat,  cross  to 
the  ledge,  back  along  the  clover,  an'  up  here,  by  ten 
o'clock,  Mr.  Tyrrell  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  easy." 

"Then  begin  right  here,  this  side  of  the  yeller  dock 
an'  pigweed.  Who  goes  first  ?  " 

One  of  two  was  sure  to  lead,  Phil  or  John,  for  both 
were  skilled  athletes  in  field  or  rustic  sports. 

Neither  replied,  though  either  held  himself  as  a  bent 
bow,  ready  for  release.  Phil  made  no  sign,  scarcely  dar- 
ing to  assert  superiority,  and  then,  having  won  'Lisbeth, 
it  was  polite  to  give  his  rival  the  lead;  and  John  was 
silent,  for  he  did  not  care. 

They  were  a  goodly  pair,  waiting  with  hats  pushed 
up  above  their  foreheads.  Each  rested  the  heel  of  a 
snath  on  the  ground,  and  leaned  on  its  bow-shaped 
length.  Beside  the  feet  of  each  a  curved  blade,  whetted 
to  a  hair  edge,  flashed  upward  in  the  sun. 

They  were  clad  in  blue  trousers  and  white  shirts, 
smoothly  ironed.  A  leathern  belt  girded  each  waist, 
leaving  their  arms  and  shoulders  easy,  and  their  collars 
were  loosened  for  freedom  and  coolness. 

At  last  Mr.  Lane  said,  — 

"  Well,  John,  you  used  to  be  good  for  sunthin'  days 
like  these  ;  strike  in  :  Phil  will  foller." 

"  Yes,  sir, "  answered  both,  raising  themselves  erect 
at  the  word. 


Haying  97 

Mr.  Wilson  kept  pace  with  the  eager,  even  steps  of 
the  comely  mower  whom  his  mind  favored,  but  his 
foreordained  conscience  disallowed.  He  was  distinctly 
proud  of  John's  learning ;  and  then,  how  he  would  like 
to  go  to  the  village,  and,  while  mother  stayed  with  'Lis- 
beth,  go  into  court  with  high  head  to  hear  John  argue 
before  the  jury. 

If  'Lisbeth  married  Phil,  she  would  be  like  other 
women  in  twenty  years,  he  told  himself;  then  thought, 
"  Would  she  ?  Was  she  like  other  girls  ?  While  she 
skimmed  milk  or  spun  linen  for  Phil,  would  not  the 
pathos  of  those  tender  eyes  turn  to  the  sadness  of  an 
endless  loss  ?  " 

"Now  aim  for  that  great  rock,  keepin'  close  to  the 
clover.  I'll  be  there,"  he  said,  and  pulled  his  hat  down 
hard,  and  strode  across  the  field.  He  could  not  give 
her  to  error,  though  a  lifetime  of  sorrow  were  the  con- 
sequence. There  must  be  no  infringement  of  divine  or 
family  law,  if  every  human  hope  were  traversed. 

"  She  must  marry  Phil,  that's  all ! "  he  said  half- 
aloud,  as  he  sat  down  on  a  projecting  edge  of  the 
boulder. 

The  two  young  men  were  also  musing  of  'Lisbeth. 
As  for  Phil,  feeling  sure  he  should  marry  her,  he  was 
thinking  how  much  better  he  should  like  her  if  she 
was  more  like  —  well  —  Eunice,  who  was  so  full  of 
spirit,  so  unambitious,  who  would  run  contentedly  by 
his  side,  never  asking  questions  ;  but  then,  John  and 


98  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

everybody  else  should  know  that  when  Phil  Harmon 
took  his  pick  he  selected  the  best. 

John  was  waiting,  sure  of  being  right ;  so,  when  they 
met  the  farmer  at  the  rock,  each  man  was  settled  in  his 
mind.  Opposite  him  the  mowers  paused  and  struck 
the  ends  of  their  snaths  firmly  on  the  ground,  thus 
throwing  the  blades  high  as  their  shoulders.  They 
carefully  wiped  them  from  heel  to  tip  with  a  wisp  of 
grass,  and  immediately  their  scythes  rang  musical  and 
clear  from  the  rasp  of  whetstones.  It  was  a  heart- 
some,  pastoral  symphony ;  and,  being  finished,  John 
asked,  — 

"  Where  now  ?  " 

"  Take  a  bee  line  for  the  wash-rock." 

An  untoward  word,  for  both  men  saw  'Lisbeth  framed 
in  the  well-room  doorway  just  beyond  the  rock,  one 
hand  on  Dorothy's  head,  and  Lettice  behind  them,  watch- 
ing their  work.  The  effect  of  the  picture  upon  Phil 
was  very  soon  manifest. 

"  Gosh  !  "  said  Tom  under  his  breath. 

"  Land  sakes  alive  !  "  exclaimed  Lettice.  "  Phil's 
plannin'  tew  take  John's  swath,  an'  fust  time  round, 
tew.  'Tain't  fair.  It's  meaner'n  dirt." 

They  saw  the  forward  man  made  no  haste  to  take  the 
challenge  up. 

"  Dear  me,  suz  !  he'll  come  by,"  whispered  Lettice  ; 
but  Jack  drove  one  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  holding 
a  sling  with  malice  aforethought  towards  a  blackbird 


Haying  99 

in  the  other,  said,  important  as  one  of  mankind  always 
is,  be  he  callow  or  gray,  — 

"  Ain't  you  scairt !  John'll  begin  to  lay  out  that 
grass  'fore  long.  He  ain't  mowin'  yit." 

Swish,  swash,  swish,  swash,  went  the  scythes  in  regu- 
lar cadence,  rhythmic  and  true ;  but  not  until  the  glitter- 
ing blade  of  his  antagonist  flashed  beside  his  heel  did 
John  give  any  sign ;  then,  as  Jack  predicted,  he  began 
to  mow.  Honey-bees  flew  angrily  away  from  full  stores 
of  nectar.  The  robber  baron  bumblebee,  clad  in  black 
and  gold,  clung  to  his  cup  of  clover  sweets  until  its 
stalk  fell  under  him,  then  with  deep  curses  pursued  his 
quest.  The  bobolink,  free  of  the  tormenting  boy,  swung 
from  a  head  of  herd's  grass,  twinkled  his  merry  eyes,  and 
poured  a  whole  throatful  of  laughter  over  the  battle- 
field. The  young  men  worked  fair  and  true.  There 
were  no  straggling  spears  standing  behind  them,  and 
nowhere  in  that  mowing  land  did  any  man  perform  his 
task  smoother,  evener,  or  better.  Before  them  the  ripe 
grass  trembled  rank  on  rank  as  it  felt  their  cleaving 
strokes.  Heavy-headed  herd's  grass,  feathery  redtop, 
and  rosy-celled  clover  bent  and  fell  in  straight  rows 
beside  their  path. 

Their  hats  were  pushed  from  their  beaded  foreheads, 
the  light  locks  of  one  and  warm  brown  of  the  other 
were  wet  as  if  they  had  been  plunged  into  dripping 
dews.  Their  strong  chests  heaved  and  sank  to  the 
deep,  regular,  rapid  breath.  They  gripped  the  hafts  of 


100  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

the  snaths  vice-like  ;  the  sinews  of  their  arms  showed 
beneath  the  moist,  clinging  sleeves,  hard  and  tense  as 
ropes,  and  the  veins  swelled  out  like  whipcords  from 
neck  and  temples. 

"  That's  jest  like  boys ;  they  need  gardeens,  both  on 
'em,"  said  Lettice  ;  "  not  a  mite  of  breakfast,  an'  cuttin' 
up  an'  actin'  like  that.  I  can't  take  my  eyes  off  of  'em, 
an'  I  darsent  look,  nuther ;  dew  tell,  is  Phil  comin'  by  ?  " 

"No,"  said  'Lisbeth  quietly. 

"  Praise  be  tew  massy  !  Well,  I  never  did  !  An' 
there's  my  coffee  bilin'  an'  sizzlin'  over  onto  them  coals, 
an'  the  biskit  a-burnin'  in  the  baker,  an'  here  I  stan' 
seein'  them  boys  makin'  fools  of  themselves." 

"  Let  'em  burn,  an'  bile  over,  an'  sizzle,"  screamed 
Jack  ;  "  who  wants  breakfast,  anyway  ?  " 

"  John's  kinder  pullin'  his  heel-taps  outen  the  way," 
remarked  one  of  the  men  ;  for  all  had  kept  alongside  the 
combatants.  Exactly  so;  he  drew  away  inch  by  inch, 
so  when  he  reached  the  goal  Phil  was  four  strokes 
behind. 

"  Hurrah !  "  shouted  Tom  and  Jack,  turning  somer- 
saults on  the  dewy  windrows. 

"Yer  darned  smart  critters,  that's  all  I've  got  tew 
say,"  commented  one  of  the  men,  as  they  turned  back 
to  finish  their  swaths ;  and  Mr.  Wilson  remarked  dryly, 
"  You  boys  better  fling  them  scythes  down  by  the  grin'- 
stone,  an'  keep  still  till  breakfast.  I  shall  want  both 
for  pitching  this  afternoon." 


Haying  101 

Shouldering  the  dulled  scythes,  they  went  through  the 
well-room  where  'Lisbeth  was.  The  first  one  smiled 
contentedly  as  he  passed ;  but  she  gave  him  no  compli- 
ment, though  she  said,  "  That  was  splendid,  Phil,"  to  the 
other. 

"  The  upshot  is,"  Lettice  told  both,  "  you  won't  have 
a  single  mouthful  fit  tew  eat  'thout  Mrs.  Wilson's  seen 
tew  it  while  I've  been  standin'  here  like  a  nat'ral  born 
fool,  watchin'  your  silly  pranks,  an'  lettin'  everything 
spile." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  John ;  "  it  will  take  a  good  deal 
to  ruin  one  of  your  breakfasts." 

"  It's  my  'pinion,  John  Mayhew,  that  after  you've 
tried  tew  wash  down  burnt  biskits  with  smoky  coffee, 
you'll  feel  an'  act  some  slower,"  said  she,  stepping  down 
into  the  kitchen. 

After  breakfast  Tom  and  Jack  with  spreading-sticks 
threw  the  grass  evenly  and  thinly  about  to  dry  upon  the 
stubble.  When  it  was  cured,  the  men  raked  it  into  knee- 
high  windrows,  which  they  divided  into  heaps.  At  last 
Mr.  Wilson  drove  his  six-foot  oxen,  tackled  to  a  great 
cart,  between  the  heaps,  and  pitchers  on  each  side  threw 
them  in,  to  be  trodden  down  hard  by  frolicking  boys, 
and  then  drawn  to  the  barn  and  stowed  away  in  the 
deep  bay. 

At  early  twilight,  when  the  men  were  resting  prone 
on  the  greensward  by  the  east  door,  or  fitted  new  teeth 
into  broken  rakes,  or  cut  fresh  heel-straps  for  scythe 


102  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

snaths,  young  Symonds  went  to  help  Lettice  at  milking. 
Phil  went  home,  and  John  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Wilson 
beyond  the  upper  field-bars,  by  a  thick  blossoming 
clump  of  red  and  white  roses,  and  leisurely  crossed  to 
him.  After  a- short  talk  on  general  topics,  John  quietly 
but  proudly  stated  his  special  errand. 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  I  came  here  to  ask  for  'Lisbeth." 

"What?" 

"  I  wish  to  marry  your  daughter,"  he  replied,  breaking 
a  rose  from  its  stalk. 

"  You  don't  want  no  such  thing." 

"  I  am  sure  I  do." 

"  An'  I  know  better.  Jest  look  at  it.  You're  goin'  to 
be  a  lawyer,  prob'ly  be  let  in  next  November  ;  then  you 
want  to  begin  housekeepin'.  Is  that  sense  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  mistake  my  judgment." 

"  What  then  —  must  wait  for  cases  ?  She  may  be 
gray  and  I  dead  afore  they  come." 

Love,  in  the  sense  of  affection  for  a  sweetheart,  Mr. 
Wilson  had  dutifully  lived  through,  and  been  none  the 
worse  for  it,  nor  much  the  better ;  but  its  memory  had 
grown  to  be  quite  like  the  lavender  scents  of  the  great 
linen-chests  which  once  held  his  wife's  household  mar- 
riage portion,  goodly  enough,  but  faint  and  uncertain. 

To  his  mind  money  and  duty  were  the  chief  good. 
He  knew  no  duty  of  loving  thought,  as  against  his  iron 
will;  but  obeying  dogma  and  church  behests,  that  was 
duty. 


Haying  103 

"  Considering  what  I  ask,  an  exact  statement  of  my 
prospects  is  fair  and  right,"  said  John,  unheedingly 
pulling  off  the  crimson  rose-petals  one  by  one.  "  Squire 
Baker  proposes  a  place  in  his  office  at  reasonable  terms 
of  partnership.  You  know  that  means  competence ; 
and  my  first  thought  will  be  given  to  making  a  suitable 
home  for  'Lisbeth." 

Mr.  Wilson  was  fascinated ;  there  was  no  denying  it. 
Such  straightforwardness,  simple  honesty,  and  faith  in 
himself  were  fetching,  and  a  delicate  affection  that 
quivered  in  the  lover's  voice  as  he  finished  drove  a  keen 
shaft  well  through  Mr.  Wilson's  iron-mailed  prejudices, 
and  almost  touched  his  heart ;  but  he  gathered  himself 
together  and  went  on,  — 

"You're  a  glib  talker;  but  s'posen  there  ain't  busi- 
ness enough  for  two,  what  then  ?  'Tain't  like  turnin' 
furrers  for  a  livin'." 

"There  is  now,  and  will  be,  sufficient  for  both;  if 
not,  Squire  Baker  would  help  me  in  Portsmouth  or 
Boston." 

"  'Tain't  no  use  talkin' ;  you  don't  reely  know  what 
town  you  are  goin'  to  live  in.  Do  you  s'pose,  with 
every  feller  round  here  and  t'other  side  of  the  pond, 
down  to  the  foot  on't,  over  to  the  Plains,  an'  out  to 
the  village,  plaguein'  an'  pesterin',  I'm  goin'  to  keep 
'Lisbeth  forty  years  for  anybody  ?  'Tain't  likely." 

"  Suppose  we  leave  it  to  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"We   won't   fool   any  longer.     You're   a   good  man 


104  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

mostly,  but  you  won't  suit  for  a  son-in-law.  'Tain't 
possible,  fur  as  I  see.  No  man  can  have  my  gal  that 
sets  the  doctrines  behind  him.  If  I  knew  this  would 
kill  us  all  three,  I  would  not  change  a  syllable." 

"  Wait,  Mr.  Wilson.  If  I  promise  that  in  all  matters 
of  belief  she  shall  be  absolutely  free,  how  will  you 
answer  ?  " 

"  Jest  the  same ;  'twould  resk  it  all :  an'  I  tell  ye 
ag'in  I'd  speak  these  words  if  I  knew  'twould  kill 
us." 

Each  syllable  was  spoken  deliberately,  mercilessly ; 
but  an  undaunted  face  fronted  him. 

"  Shall  I  renounce  my  mother's  creed  ?  " 

"  Believin'  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Then  every  living  soul  ought  to  despise  you  for 
a  low-lived  critter." 

"  So,  indeed,  should  I  be ;  a  perjurer  in  my  own 
sight,  in  yours,  in  'Lisbeth's,  and  before  heaven  it- 
self. Plainly  and  truly,  it  is  most  dear  to  me;  but 
my  mother  enjoined  as  a  rule  of  life,  careful  respect 
and  toleration  for  religious  opinions.  If  'Lisbeth  casts 
her  lot  with  me  she  shall  be  entirely  free  in  respect  to 
these  things." 

"Never  utter  another  word  on  this  subject.  Do  you 
hear  ?  Never." 

"But  I  am  sure  to." 

"Why,  wh— " 


Haying  105 

"  Love  for  your  daughter  will  compel  speech." 

"No;  you'll  stop  right  here.     It's  wastin'  breath." 

"  Very  well.     I  shall  speak  till  one  of  us  is  dead." 

"  Mean  you  won't  give  this  up  ?  " 

"  Precisely,  Mr.  Wilson." 

"I'm  goin'  to  settle  it  right  here,  once  for  all.  I'm 
tired  of  bein'  tormented.  Seems  as  if  I  hadn't  stepped 
off'ii  our  door  rock  this  six  months,  lumberin',  plantin', 
sowin',  to  mill  or  to  meetin',  'thout  bein'  follered  up. 
One  is  awful  forrard  helpin'  chain  a  log,  another  hops 
out  of  the  woods  as  I'm  footin'  it  alongside  of  the  oxen, 
or  comes  in  nigh  dusk  to  swap  some  seedlin'  p'taters 
or  cat-eye  beans ;  an'  every  livin'  one  hantin'  me  to  ask 
the  same  question  you've  dogged  me  across  the  road  for. 
Why  don't  they  try  the  old  fashion  of  goin'  to  spellin'- 
school,  an'  parin'-bees,  an'  huskin's,  an'  askin'  to  see  a 
gal  home,  instid  of  chasin'  me  up  garrit  an'  down  cellar, 
into  the  cornfield,  an'  all  over  the  lot." 

John  smiled  in  spite  of  himself,  remembering  a  shy 
girl  in  camlet  cloak  and  big  hood,  who  always  left 
them  all  behind  the  others  because  she  did  not  love 
them,  and  him  because  she  did.  Her  father,  unmind- 
ful of  such  wandering  thoughts,  went  on,  — 

"I'm  tired  out,  an'  so  I've  put  a  stop  to  the  whole 
business." 

«  How  ?  " 

"  By  tellin'  the  last  one  before  you  to  marry  'Lisbeth, 
an'  let  me  alone.  Now  I  hope  you'll  take  no  for  an 


106  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

answer,  an'  ain't   layin'   out    to   bother   me   all    along 
consarnin'  it." 

"I  know  I  shall,  Mr.  Wilson." 

"  Why  must  you  fuss  an'  trouble  us  ?  But  you  'pear 
sot  that  way.  If  you  b'leved  the  doctrines,  you'd  be 
the  very  one  mother  'n'  me  would  pick  out  for  our 
child;  for  we  are  sure  that  humanly  speakin'  there 
ain't  a  weak  spot  ner  a  mean  one  in  ye.  If  any 
man  sh'd  say  John  Mayhew  wronged  a  soul,  I  sh'd 
know  he  lied;  but  'tain't  no  use,  John,  not  a  grain, 
for  you  go  where  error  is  taught,  an'  foller  it.  You 
can't  be  a  hypercrite,  ner  see  the  sin  of  your  ways, 
neither  one ;  an'  I  can't  run  counter  to  the  command- 
ments, so  I've  put  temptation  out  of  the  way." 

"You  have  consented  to  marriage  if  this  man  gains 
her  consent  ?  " 

"  I  have  passed  my  word." 

"  To  whom,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  To  a  likely  feller  with  cattle  and  sense  to  boot,  — 
Philip  Harmon." 

"  Has  he  spoken  to  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  dunno,  nor  care;  he's  goin'  to  marry 
her,  an  that's  enough." 

John  felt  an  icy  grip  at  his  heart  as  he  dwelt  on  the 
almost  absolute  power  of  such  a  father,  augmented,  as 
it  was  sure  to  be,  by  churchly  admonition  and  reproof. 
She  was  a  loyal  dweller  in  Mr.  Ward's  priestly  fold, 
and  subject  to  its  discipline.  Himself  and  the  girl 


Haying  107 

were  in  sore  straits,  and  he  was  silent  for  some  time, 
weighing  the  matter  carefully,  and  concluding  what 
further  words  he  had  better  speak. 

"Truly,"  thought  Mr.  Wilson,  "John  is  very  pale 
indeed,  but  quiet  and  wise."  He  could  tell  'Lisbeth 
truthfully  that  he  relinquished  her  easily.  Every  thing 
appeared  so  much  better  than  when  they  reached  the  wash 
rock  that  morning.  Steadily  John  commenced  again,  — 

"Phil  has  not  visited  'Lisbeth?" 

"  I  dunno ; "  he  began  to  be  anxious. 

"  Suppose  she  refuses  him  ?  " 

"That  is  out  of  the  case."- 

"  It  would  make  a  difference  ?  " 

"Not  a  particle." 

"Do  you  propose  marriage  between  them  in  any 
event  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  Compelling  her  if  need  be  ?  " 

"We're  all  under  law;  my  child  is  no  exception." 

"Then  obedience  will  be  demanded?" 

"Her  mother  an'  me  know  best  what's  right,  an' 
she'll  be  told.  Neither  parents  nor  children  can  set 
aside  parental  authority ;  it's  above  both." 

A  quick  fear  seized  Mr.  Wilson,  and  he  strode  close 
to  his  brave  opponent. 

"  Look  here,  if  you  run  to  her  you'll  both  git  inter 
trouble.  She's  goin'  to  marry  Phil.  If  he's  feared  of 
her,  I  ain't.  If  he  dassent  ask,  I'll  see  to  it.  Keep 


108  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

your  own   side    of   the   hedge,    will   you,    and    let   my 

child  alone?" 
i 
Somehow  Mr.  Wilson    felt   half   beaten   in   spite    of 

his  high  phrases ;  for  surely  he  had  not  found  such  a 
very  pliant  boy  as  would  run  up  the  road  simply  be- 
cause he  was  ordered  to  go. 

"  Your  warning  comes  too  late,  Mr.  Wilson ;  I  have 
spoken  to  her,  and  she  sent  me  to  you." 

Fiercely  her  father  demanded, — 

"Is  that  all?     Did  she  speak  for  herself?" 

"She  did.  If  Phil  has  your  promise,  'Lisbeth's  is 
pledged  to  me." 

"You  can't  hold  her  agin  my  authority,  an'  you 
shall  not." 

"All  law,  all  righteousness,  Mr.  Wilson,  condemns 
what  your  intolerance  proposes.  I  will  not  bind  my- 
self to  silence,  and  my  reply  is  this :  Without  yield- 
ing my  own  belief,  with  a  sacred  regard  for  'Lisbeth's, 
respecting  your  lawful  rights  as  her  father,  and  zeal- 
ously guarding  them  all,  what  I  can  win  I  shall  take 
in  proper  fashion  and  in  open  day." 

The  last  vestige  of  sympathy  and  admiration  was 
smothered  in  the  elder  man  by  such  a  reply. 

"  Your  free  will  seems  to  need  a  little  guidin'. 
You've  kinder  taken  the  bits  between  your  teeth,  an' 
kicked  over  the  traces.  WJiat  do  you  mean?" 

"You  heard  my  answer,"  said  John,  breaking  an- 
other rose  from  the  full  stock,  and  starting  homeward. 


Catechising  Children  109 


CHAPTER   XI 

CATECHISING    CHILDREN 

JOHN  came  to  the  house  no  more,  but  Mr.  Wilson's 
tactics  were  direct.  He  set  his  house  in  order,  lest 
his  opponent's  declared  persistency  should  overcome  at 
last. 

The  lovers  met  occasionally  at  a  neighbor's,  and  for 
the  rest,  waited  with  what  grace  they  could  for  a  change 
in  him  who  so  sternly  traversed  their  hopes,  not  certain 
that  reversal  of  opinion  would  ever  come. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Benson  was  gaining  ground  to  the 
extent  of  a  secure  and  lasting  foothold.  His  singing 
and  commanding  presence  mightily  supplemented  the 
winning  proclamation  of  a  love  unshackled,  unpriced, 
and  all-embracing.  Barriers  to  Calvinistic  preserves 
were  certainly  breaking  down  in  places.  That,  of 
course,  made  no  end  of  trouble  for  the  lovers,  each  de- 
fection imbittering  Mr.  Wilson  more  and  more.  He  was 
not  quite  consistent,  however ;  for  he  so  delighted  in 
argument,  that  as  often  as  the  iron-gray  passed  up  and 
down  the  road,  so  frequently  he  found  himself  with 
only  a  stone  wall  between  him  and  its  rider.  The  stern 
"  Good-morning,  sir,"  ran  into  controversy  as  naturally 
as  water  runs  down  hill  3  and  many  a  time  the  dirt  was 


110  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

dry  round  a  half-hoed  hill  of  corn  or  potatoes  before  he 
returned  to  it. 

Admiration  of  one  who  overcame  in  argument  was 
a  hidden  law  written  in  his  members ;  therefore,  that 
sweet-spirited  man,  skilled  in  polemics,  possessed  a  defi- 
nite power  over  him.  He  often  went  back  to  hoe,  rake, 
or  waiting  oxen,  rubbing  his  eyebrows  perplexedly, 
wondering  if  he  had  really  lost  a  perfectly  plain  argu- 
ment. At  such  times  he  snapped  Mr.  Tyrrell  very 
shortly,  or  frightened  the  patient  cattle  by  a  fierce 
whip-cut  that  sent  them  pulling  through  their  bows ;  but 
he  was  sure  to  call,  "  Wa-hish,  Bright,  whoa  there, 
Golden,"  and  leave  them  to  chew  their  cuds  and  lazily 
switch  flies  while  he  went,  oxgoad  in  hand,  to  the  wall 
the  next  time  that  white  hat  and  martial  rider  showed 
above  it. 

Mr.  Wilson  failed  to  see  that  he  held  human  deduc- 
tions with  a  tenacity  and  loyalty  owed  only  to  divine 
law.  He  did  not  consider  that  men  degrade  omnipotent, 
immortal  primal  reason  when  they  fear  harm  to  the 
living  word  from  discussion  of  any  human  theory 
whatsoever.  Blest  be  that  hastening  day  when  dogma, 
with  intolerance  and  hate,  its  twin  offspring,  shall  make 
way  before  the  overcoming  grace  of  lives  modelled  by 
the  one  perfect  creed,  —  the  Master's  Sermon  on  the 
Mount. 

In  the  August  following  Mr.  Wilson's  encounter  with 
John  by  the  rosebushes,  he  called  upon  his  pastor,  Mr. 


Catechising  Children  111 

"Ward,  and  laid  the  whole  case  before  that  worthy  and 
exemplary  man,  who  listened  to  the  statement  sincerely 
grieved  for  such  a  gracious  member  of  his  flock  and 
her  much-tormented  father. 

Mr.  Ward  was  —  the  pastors  of  that  church  had  ever 
been  rare  men  —  a  person  of  genuine  piety,  and  of 
superior  wisdom. 

The  severer  doctrines  of  the  creed  distressed  him ;  but 
he  was  a  loyal  soul,  and  as  he  had  heard,  so  he  taught 
faithfully,  to  the  great  edification  of  the  congregation, 
except  one  of  the  deacons,  and  perhaps  a  male  member 
or  two,  who  deemed  that  he  expounded  faith  to  the 
detriment  of  cardinal  dogma,  predestination,  and  the 
like.  As  minister,  he  was  next  friend  to  all  church 
members  and  their  families ;  the  ordained  sharer  of 
their  cares  and  hopes ;  their  helper,  and,  if  need  be,  their 
chastiser.  The  trouble  of  'Lisbeth's  touched  him  deeply  ; 
for  she  was  the  earliest  fruit  of  his  priestly  harvests, 
and  had  always  been  a  teachable,  happy  girl. 

He  had  already  determined  to  make  a  pastoral  visit 
to  that  corner  of  the  churchly  heritage,  catechise  the 
children,  and  pray  with  some  ailing  members  of  his 
fold ;  so  he  told  Mr.  Wilson  the  visit  would  be  paid 
immediately,  and  he  would  find  opportunity  for  speech 
with  'Lisbeth  at  the  same  time,  as  the  children  were  to 
meet  at  Mr.  Wilson's  house. 

On  the  day  set,  all  household  preparations  were  early 
made,  so  no  domestic  confusion  should  disturb  the  half- 


112  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

religious  day.  A  Sabbath  air  gradually  enveloped  the 
household,  as  wheel  and  loom  were  left,  cards  and  reels 
hung  up  before  ten  o'clock.  The  children  were  clad  in 
their  best ;  and  Dame  Wilson,  prim  and  stern,  clothed 
in  a  lilac-sprigged  calico  gown,  her  cap- border  tied  down 
peacefully  with  lilac  ribbon,  rehearsed  them  in  cate- 
chism and  psalms,  after  which  they  were  allowed  to  go 
circumspectly  into  the  front  yard ;  but  out  of  respect 
to  the  visitor,  and  also  to  their  Sunday  garments,  they 
must  not  run  nor  be  noisy.  After  a  while  Mr.  Ward  ar- 
rived. The  boys  pulled  their  caps  off,  and  bowed,  while 
Dorothy  courtesied  very  demurely.  He  patted  their 
thick  locks,  drew  his  eyebrows  together  anxiously,  and 
said  to  Mr.  Wilson,  "  I  do  hope,  Mr.  Wilson,  I  do  hope 
these  young  children  of  yours  will  never  know  the  dis- 
aster sure  to  follow  church  doctrines  lightly  held  or 
openly  defied,  but  I  have  grave  fears  for  the  rising 
generation." 

The  boys  looked  up  at  him  awestruck,  dimly  con- 
scious of  belonging  to  some  mysterious  force  or  other, 
which  was  advancing  to  be  confronted  by  another  ter- 
rible power,  whether  bodily  or  not  was  a  question ;  li- 
able at  any  moment  to  break  forth  in  some  unknown 
fashion,  from  what  place  they  could  not  tell,  and  stalk 
up  and  down  those  roads  to  the  general  detriment. 

Those  little  catechumens  sat  down  on  the  front  door- 
step after  he  went  into  the  house,  full  of  misery  from 
a  mixture  of  emotions,  caused  partly  by  solemn  thoughts 


Catechising  Children  113 

revolving  in  their  minds,  the  general  state  of  repression 
about  the  house,  and  their  Sabbath  clothes.  They  were 
moved,  also,  very  acutely  after  a  while  by  the  fact  that 
it  was  a  dreamy,  hazy,  golden  day,  and  gem-tinted  butter- 
flies were  flying  over  the  sweetwilliams  and  canterbury- 
bells;  and  again,  there  was  a  leather  sling  in  Tom's 
pocket,  while  a  chipmunk  whisked  hither  and  thither 
over  and  through  the  high  stone  wall  opposite. 

Mr.  Wilson  had  not  confided  to  his  wife  the  principal 
reason  for  that  ministerial  visit ;  but  he  determined  to 
take  time  by  the  forelock,  and  transfer  her  to  some  scene 
of  usefulness  other  than  the  fore-room,  so  the  most 
important  matter  relating  to  'Lisbeth's  besetment  and 
duty  might  be  reached  and  settled  before  dinner. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  after  a  reasonable  time  for  general 
inquiry  after  each  other's  health,  and  so  on,  "  Mother, 
where's  them  boys  an'  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"  The  boys  are  on  the  doorstep,  and  'Lisbeth  just 
stepped  out  to  put  a  tier  on  Dorothy." 

He  went  into  the  kitchen,  returning  immediately,  hat 
in  hand. 

"  I  guess  Lettice  needs  you,  mother,  so  'st  to  git 
dinner  goin'  a  little  faster ;  an'  I'll  run  out  to  call  Mr. 
Tyrrell,  an'  help  him  put  up  the  oxen." 

Passing  out  of  the  door,  he  said,  "  'Lisbeth,  your 
mother's  busy,  an'  I'm  goin'  into  the  field  a  minute  ;  you 
go  into  the  fore-room  an'  visit  with  Mr.  Ward." 

«  Yes,  sir." 


114  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

Lettice,  having  donned  new  cap  and  apron,  was  pre- 
paring the  midday  meal  in  a  subdued  fashion  ;  %but  she 
found  time  to  read  her  employer  like  a  book.  She  had 
distrusted  him  since  he  told  them  that  his  children  and 
those  of  families  in  the  vicinity  were  to  be  catechised 
at  his  house. 

She  happened  to  be  at  the  dresser  when  he  sent  his 
wife  into  the  kitchen,  and  her  alert  understanding  took 
in  the  truth. 

Her  first  thought  was  to  say  that  no  assistance  was 
desired,  but  she  finally  concluded  to  let  matters  alone 
at  present ;  and  so  'Lisbeth  was  left  to  the  counsel  of 
a  sagacious  overseer. 

Once,  when  Lettice  went  to  the  dresser  for  a  large 
blue  platter,  she  saw  through  the  open  door  the  girl's 
pale  face  at  one  side  of  the  west-  window,  gazing 
painedly  far  up  through  the  red-fruited  cherry  trees ; 
and  on  the  other  an  equally  anxious  and  disquieted 
countenance,  whose  large  gentle  eyes  were  fixed  en- 
treatingly  on  his  listener.  What  after  passed  between 
them  she  did  not  note;  but  Mr.  Ward  brought  to  the 
bountiful  table  the  appearance  of  one  whose  duty  is 
well  performed,  and  'Lisbeth  was  in  better  spirits  than 
had  lately  been  her  wont. 

Children's  meeting  in  the  afternoon  was  exceedingly 
quaint  and  sweet.  All  were  dressed  in  Sunday  suits 
and  manners  ;  so  were  their  parents. 

Mr.  Tyrrell  unharnessed  and  unsaddled    the   horses, 


Catechising  Children  115 

put  them  into  the  barn,  and  backed  the  wagons  to  one 
side,  as  neighbor  after  neighbor  arrived. 

Lettice  received  the  people  in  the  east-room,  and  paid 
special  attention  to  the  children ;  bright,  clear-faced, 
strong-willed  lads  and  lasses  they  were,  every  one. 
They  trod  softly  on  the  shining  yellow  floor,  and  hushed 
their  voices  replying  to  Lettice  as  she  took  off  their 
hats  and  bonnets,  smoothed  them  out  generally,  settled 
the  women's  caps,  and  marshalled  them  into  the  fore- 
room,  where  the  children  Avere  seated  in  a  semi-circular 
row,  with  their  parents  behind  them.  The  first-comers, 
while  waiting  for  the  rest,  amused  themselves  by  observ- 
ing their  tow  locks  and  rosy  faces  in  the  mirror  between 
the  south  windows,  and  the  exciting  hunting  scenes 
pictured  on  the  walls.  They  were  much  awed  by  a 
mourning-piece,  so  called,  that  hung  high  on  the  wall 
in  a  mahogany  frame,  where,  beneath  the  most  flourish- 
ing but  pathetic  willow,  a  female  mourner,  clad  in  fault- 
less weeds  and  low-cut  bodice,  leaned  on  a  tombstone, 
and  held  in  one  long  hand  an  immense  handkerchief, 
ready  to  cover  her  face  as  soon  as  the  admiring  specta- 
tors should  realize  her  grief  and  how  beautifully  she 
bore  it. 

Upon  a  high  mantel  were  two  brass  candlesticks, 
and  above  them  hung  a  copy  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, in  a  narrow  frame. 

A  delicate  lustral  bowl  filled  with  sweetwilliams  and 
bachelor's  buttons  was  on  the  spindle-legged  table,  and 


116  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

beside  it  lay  a  large  Bible,  a  copy  of  Watts' s  hymns,  and 
Bunyan's  immortal  parable. 

Several  books  of  history,  philosophy,  and  essays  stood 
on  a  tall  desk  between  the  west  windows  and  a  corner 
china  closet,  whose  glass  door  disclosed  Mrs,  Wilson's 
new  mulberry  set,  .and  some  finely  cut  glassware.  A 
huge  fireplace  was  filled  with  fir  boughs,  that  scented 
the  room  with  balsamic  odors. 

For  two  hours  Mr.  Ward  listened  to  recitals  of  cate- 
chism and  psalms,  sometimes  altogether,  sometimes 
singly.  He  questioned  one  and  another;  told  them 
stories  of  good  children  and  a  little  Bible  history. 

"I  think,"  said  the  excellent  pastor,  his  fine  face 
beaming  upon  the  children,  "  I  really  do  think  you 
have  tried  to  learn  and  understand,  and  you  have 
greatly  cheered  my  heart. 

"  Our  duties  are  many,  and  next  to  love  for  God  and 
our  parents  is  love  of  country.  I  want  all  of  you,  the 
boys  in  particular,  to  learn  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence before  school  opens.  I  shall  visit  your  school 
soon  after  it  begins,  and  when  examinations  are  over 
I  will  instruct  you  concerning  it  and  the  men  who  made 
it.  I  am  pleased  to  bring  a  notice  from  Mr.  Mason,  who 
desired  me  to  say  he  will  begin  singing-school  in  this 
district  the  second  Monday  evening  in  September,  at 
early  candlelight." 

He  gave  a  gracious  word  to  each  child  as  it  went  out, 
then  congratulated  the  parents  for  that  they  had  been 


Catechising  Children  117 

so  strenuous  in  matters  of  instruction  as  to  doctrine, 
and  also  that  many  of  the  little  ones  were  in  the 
psalms  ? 

"  Our  Jim  couldn't  help  that,"  said  Mrs.  Powell. 
"  He's  in  mischief  pretty  much  all  the  time ;  an'  we 
makes  him  set  right  down  an'  say  all  he  knows,  an' 
learn  ten  more  bran-new  verses.  That's  his  punish- 
ment, reg'lar." 

«  Who  hears  him  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Powell's  mother.  She's  kinder  old,  an'  her 
time  ain't  wuth  much,  but  she's  trooly  great  on 
Scripter." 

Jim  appeared  at  the  door  that  moment.  "  Come  here, 
my  little  man,"  said  Mr.  Ward.  "Do  you  know  most 
of  the  psalms  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  hear  your  grandmother  instructs  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir, "  shamefacedly,  and  tugging  with  all  his 
might  at  a  brass  pants  button. 

"  I  hope  you  love  her  ?  " 

Mrs.  Powell's  anxious  appearance  was  a  study ;  so  was 
Jim's.  He  had  repeated  catechism  and  chapter  fault- 
lessly, now  it  was  "  no  fair,"  he  told  himself,  to  be  teas- 
ing a  boy  that  way.  He  was  honest  too ;  so  he  pulled 
harder  at  the  button,  and  a  high  color  flew  to  the  roots 
of  his  hair,  as  he  answered  defiantly,  — 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Why,  James !  " 


118  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  I  don't ;  ner  I  don't  like  psalms,  an'  if  I  grow  to  be 
a  man  I  won't  never  read  a  single  one ! " 

The  poor  boy  ran  out  during  the  amazed  pause  that 
followed  his  short  speech,  and  said  to  the  boys,  — 

"  Mother'll  warm  my  jacket,  but  I  swanny,  I'm  glad 
I  said  it,  lick  or  no  lick." 

"Here,  James,"  called  'Lisbeth,  who  had  followed 
him  out ;  "  come  back  and  tell  Mr.  Ward  you  were  sorry 
when  grandma  was  sick  a  while  ago." 

"  Course  I  was,  she  had  such  pain,  an'  couldn't  sleep, 
ner  nuthin';  but  if  she  could  die  'thout  bein'  sick,  she 
might,  an'  welcome,  for  all  me." 

"  0  James,  you  would  care  if  she  died !  " 

"  Mother  says  she'd  be  better  off,  an'  —  an'  —  I 
shouldn't  care  a  cent,  'Lisbeth." 

'Lisbeth  returned  to  assist  in  passing  refreshments. 
Mrs.  Harmon  must  have  the  receipt  for  Lettice's  fruit- 
cake before  she  went  home,  and  she  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  get  it,  followed  by  more  women,  who  had 
other  varieties  of  domestic  solicitude,  —  receipts  for 
pickles,  jellies,  and  barberry  marmalade,  borrowing  a 
little  alum  to  set  a  color,  or  a  small  piece  of  indigo  to 
strengthen  one.  While  they  were  receiving  those  com- 
mon attentions,  Mr.  Ward  discoursed  to  his  male  mem- 
bers as  to  unsettling  of  doctrine  and  kindred  dangers, 
and  expressed  satisfaction  for  the  zeal  of  that  district 
in  such  respects ;  yes,  he  was  glad  in  his  heart  for  that 
exemplary  part  of  his  charge.  He  was  a  goodly  shep- 


Meeting  Between  Mr.  Ward  and  Mr.   Benson    119 

herd,  standing  there  among  his  flock  after  the  women 
returned. 

He  was  tall  and  slender,  having  fine  large  features 
and  dark-blue  eyes.  He  possessed  "a  heavenly  tem- 
per, and  was  so  pure  in  life  no  evil  thing  could  be 
said  of  him."  He  was  also  very  gracious  in  manner, 
and  fairly  glowed  with  the  inspiring  visit,  perfect,  ex- 
cept for  Jim's  defection  in  the  matter  of  psalms  and 
his  grandmother. 

There  was  a  definite  note  of  satisfaction  in  good- 
bys  spoken  when  the  sun  hung  an  hour  high  above 
Sugarloaf. 

Mr.  Wilson  walked  beside  his  pastor's  saddle  some 
distance ;  and  as  they  went  by  some  children  gathering 
sweet  flag  beside  the  brook,  the  little  ones  bowed  and 
courtesied.  Mr.  Ward  raised  his  hat,  saying  kindly,  — 

"  I  see  you  mind  your  manners,  children." 


CHAPTER   XII 

MEETING    BETWEEN    MR.    WARD    AND    MR.    BENSON 

As  soon  as  they  were  beyond  earshot  Mr.  Wilson  began 
discourse  as  to  what  would  bring  'Lisbeth  out  of  danger, 
and  graft  her  firmly  to  a  branch  of  church  stock,  to  the 
neglect  of  a  stately  young  alien  vine,  which  displayed 


120  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

such  alarming  inclination  toward  climbing  over  sectarian 
walls.  Mr.  Wilson,  having  a  hard  kind  of  philosophy 
accepted  by  a  wilful  sort  of  men,  said,  — 

"It's  no  use  beatin'  round  the  bush,  better  settle  it 
once  for  all ; "  but  his  minister,  kind  and  manly,  in- 
sisted against  coercion. 

"  I  am  opposed  to  immediate  marriage,  Mr.  Wilson, 
and  also  to  positively  commanding  such  a  contract  with 
Mr.  Harmon.  Leave  her  free." 

"  But  I've  give  my  word  to  Phil." 

"  What ! "  He  drew  the  horse  up  sharply,  and  ob- 
served the  speaker  severely,  then  started  again,  say- 
ing,— 

"You  did  not  so  inform  me.  Does  even  Elizabeth 
fully  comprehend  ?  Have  you  been  plain  with  her  ?  " 

"Yes;  that  is,  she  understands  well  'nuff." 

Mr.  Ward's  countenance  did  not  soften,  for  he  felt 
the  exact  truth.  Evidently  neither  man  had  spoken  to 
the  girl ;  nor  had  Harmon  paid  her  any  loving  tribute 
of  unselfish  attention  to  win  her  favor.  He  asked 
the'  proud  girl  of  hef  father,  yes,  demanded  her  life, 
without  one  token  of  tenderness  towards  herself.  It 
was  as  if  she  belonged  to  those  two  self-willed  men, 
like  the  horses  in  their  stalls,  and  the  lambs  of  their 
folds. 

All  the  fatherhood  of  his  loving  heart  went  out  to 
that  defrauded  child.  The  law  demanded  obedience 
of  her  ;  yet  he  saw  how  warped  and  twisted  and 


Meeting  Between  Mr.  Ward  and  Mr.   Benson    121 

unnatural  such  authority  became,  wrenched  from  its 
gracious  design. 

Had  he  consulted  his  heart  as  to  which  of  those 
young  men  should  be  intrusted  with  'Lisbeth,  he  would 
have  replied,  "  God  can  keep  his  elect  anywhere ;  for 
love  and  truth's  sake  let  John  Mayhew  seek  his  own." 
He  might  not  command  contrary  to  law,  but  he  might 
and  would  see  its  intent  unbroken;  so  he  counselled 
in  a  tone  which  seemed  more  a  command,  — 

"I  will  see  Mr.  Harmon,  and  inquire  of  him  fully 
why  he  seeks  your  daughter  in  marriage ;  till  then 
let  the.  matter  rest." 

Here  he  drew  the  horse  to  a  halt,  and  leaned  forward, 
intently  listening  to  a  hymn,  toned  rich  and  clear, 
which  cleft  the  air  from  the  opposite  winding  hill, 
and  provoked  a  faint  echo  from  the  deep  woods. 

"Who  is  that?"  inquired  he  earnestly. 

"  The  tenor  singer." 

«  Who  ?  " 

"The  circuit-rider." 

"  Ah,  listen !  The  gift  of  song  is  a  blessed  one,  and 
he  is  a  man  of  extraordinary  appearance  and  character, 
I  am  told." 

u  He  never  cuts  up,  an'  looks  like  a  'postle,  an'  can 
argerfy  like  Jeremiah  Smith ;  but  he's  the  wust  of  the 
lot." 

"  Indeed  !    You  have  met  him,  then." 

"  Yes ;  'Lisbeth  an'  me  met  him  an'  John  fust  time  he 


122  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

travelled  our  way,  an'  ever  sence  he's  been  racin'  up  an' 
down,  cuttin'  'cross  lots  from  the  turnpike  to  county 
road,  one  way  or  t'other,  twice  a  month ;  an'  he  allus 
stops  by  the  wall  or  barn,  or  wheresomever  I  happen  to 
be.  Jest  stops  to  arger,  and  sticks  to  it  like  a  good 
feller." 

"  Indeed ! " 

The  hymn  was  coming  so  near,  some  words  could  be 
dimly  heard,  —  one  of  Charles  Wesley's  triumphant 

songs : — 

"  More  than  conquerors  at  last, 
Here  they  find  their  trials  o'er. 
They  have  all  their  sorrows  past, 
Hunger  now  and  thirst  no  more. 
No  excessive  heat  they  feel 
From  the  sun's  directer  ray  ; 
In  a  milder  clime  they  dwell, 
Kegion  of  eternal  day." 

As  the  song  slowly  died  along  the  echoing  slopes,  the 
minstrel  came  into  view  round  a  curve  at  the  top  of  the 
first  steep  pitch  of  the  hill.  The  rein  was  tightly 
drawn  along  the  neck  of  the  iron-gray,  Avho  stepped  cau- 
tiously over  rolling  stones  and  rough  ledge,  between 
rows  of  bird-cherry  trees,  red,  and  bending  'neath  their 
weight  of  fruit.  He  trotted  sedately  over  the  short 
level  and  merry  brook,  and  the  three  travellers  met. 
Truly,  it  was  a  difficult  case  for  Mr.  Wilson ;  but  he  in- 
troduced them.  The  greeting  was  quiet,  as  became  gen- 
tlemen ;  then  they  searched  each  other's  faces,  but  the 


Meeting  Between  Mr.  Ward  and  Mr.  Benson    123 

noble  manliness  of  each  prevented  awkwardness.  They 
might  have  been  fellow-knights  from  Palestine,  so  reg- 
nant were  they ;  or  stern  and  resolute  mortal  foes,  yet 
entirely  blameless,  and  full  of  loyalty  to  truth.  Faith 
inspired  the  visage  of  each.  At  length  the  new-comer 
tranquilly  spoke,  — 

"  Brother  Ward,  you  are  not  really  a  stranger  to  me." 

«  Ah ! " 

"  A  young  man  whom  I  highly  value  has  made  your 
name  familiar ;  for  you  are,  in  fact,  his  pastor,  and  cer- 
tainly possess  his  high  esteem." 

"  Indeed !  He  has  done  me  good  service,  and  I  am 
debtor  to  him.  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"John  Mayhew,  than  whom  I  know  none  worthier." 

"You  judge  him  correctly,  I  esteem  him." 

Even  as  those  steadfast  men  viewed  one  another  so 
keenly,  a  mutual  respect  was  born  in  them  which  lasted 
while  both  lived. 

Mr.  Wilson  did  not  lack  courage,  and  could  not  allow 
those  approving  remarks  to  pass  uncorrected. 

"He  is  rash  an'  headstrong,  after  the  manner  of 
high-headed  an'  forrard  youth." 

"  But  I  account  him  self-governed  and  restrained," 
replied  Father  Benson. 

Mr.  Ward  turned  the  conversation  to  irregularities 
which  had  occurred  during  Mr.  Benson's  last  meeting. 

* 

"  Mr.  Benson,  allow  me  to  apologize  for  the  heedless 
behavior  shown  toward  you  by  some  younger  mem- 


124  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

bers  of  my  congregation.  You  cannot  be  more  deeply 
grieved  by  it  than  I  am." 

"  Do  not  be  disturbed  on  my  account." 

"  I  think  there  will  be  no  further  offence." 

"  Our  ministers  suffer  indignities,  and  must.  In  this 
case  the  young  men  were  simply  thoughtless." 

"  You  are  not  native  to  this  State  ?  " 

"No;  I  am  from  Heading." 

"An  old  orthodox  town.  Strange  that  one  of  alien 
faith  should  come  from  her !  " 

"Whether  the  belief  I  now  hold  be  alien  or  no,  I  will 
not  declare ;  but  I  am  a  living  witness  to  the  power  of 
Reading  orthodoxy." 

"Will  you  tell  me  how?" 

"Certainly.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  straitest  doc- 
trine of  Calvin,  and  studied  Wesley  that  I  might 
meet  the  new  sect  by  reasoning.  Somehow  the  novel 
teaching  laid  hold  of  my  judgment,  and  I  became  an 
object  of  blame  at  home.  My  unhappiness  became  so 
great  that  I  finally  concluded  if  salvation  was  in  a 
creed,  rather  than  the  Bible,  nothing  could  be  real. 
Still  I  persecuted  the  new  sect  as  some  satisfaction 
for  lost  hope,  till  I  met  Edward  Taylor,  who  led  me 
to  unclouded  faith.  With  prayer  and  fasting  have  I 
come  so  far." 

"  And  have  arrived  at  truth  ? " 

"  Perfect  truth  is  the  essence  of  God's  character ; 
no  man  has  attained  to  it,"  replied  Mr.  Benson. 


Meeting  Between  Mr.  Ward  and  Mr.  Benson    125 

"  May  I  ask  a  few  questions  ?  " 

"  As  many  as  you  'please." 

"  Thank  you.  Were  those  things  our  fathers  accom- 
plished the  results  of  error  ?  You  know  the  story 
of  their  advent  into  a  country  full  of  wild  beasts  and 
wilder  men,  having  a  severer  climate  than  they  had 
ever  known.  Some  power  upheld  them.  Was  it  the 
evil  one  ?  Is  this  goodly  fruitage  of  soil,  these  flocks 
and  herds,  the  harvest  of  false  planting  ?  In  the  teeth 
of  every  spoiler  laying  wait  to  destroy k  has  that  weak 
remnant  become  thousands,  and  tens  of  thousands,  filled 
hillside  and  level  with  a  happy,  prosperous,  self-centred, 
and  self-governed  race,  by  believing  a  lie  ?  " 

Calmly  the  circuit-rider  replied,  — 

"  Absolute  reliance  on  God,  and  belief  that  he  called 
them  and  went  before  them,  is  the  only  reasonable 
answer  to  a  thinking  soul.  We  are  all  debtors  here, 
immeasurably  so/'' 

"Now,  Mr.  Benson,  I  cannot  but  conclude  that  there 
is  mysterious  blindness  in  leaving  our  illustrious  heri- 
tage of  churchly  and  civil  splendor  for  a  stranger 
calling  itself  a  church ;  and  if  it  be,  it  is  a  lesser, 
fading  light." 

"  So  far  as  proper  pride  in  clerical  achievement  is 
concerned,  none  excel  me.  It  is  my  honest  and  ador- 
ing thought  that  God  made  the  Pilgrims  the  chosen 
instruments  of  his  purpose,  and  abides  beside  their 
sacred  places." 


126  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  offer  incense  at  gentile  shrines  ?  " 

"  In  all  the  earth  the  altars  *M  the  Most  High  are 
one.  Creeds  are  neither  shrines  nor  sacred  perfume. 
At  their  best  they  only  embody  human  thought,  and 
sometimes  are  made  the  vehicle  of  arbitrary,  unholy 
power.  Had  the  Puritan  kept  to  the  advice  of  the 
pious  and  learned  John  Robinson,  we  should  be  in 
no  difficulty." 

"  You  cannot  say  he  was  free  from  creed ;  he  was 
our  schoolmaster  as  a  doctrine." 

"  Yet  he  freed  me  from  the  bondage  of  it." 

"  How  is  it  possible  ?  " 

"By  perusing  his  farewell  sermon  to  those  of  his 
flock  embarking  for  America.  This  he  said,— 

" '  I  charge  you  before  God  and  his  blessed  angels, 
that  you  follow  me  no  farther  than  you  have  seen 
me  follow  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  If  God  reveal 
anything  to  you  by  any  instrument  of  his,  be  as 
ready  to  receive  it  as  ever  you  were  to  receive  any 
truth  by  my  ministry ;  for  I  am  verily  persuaded, 
I  am  very  confident,  the  Lord  has  more  truth  yet 
to  break  out  of  his  holy  word.  ...  For  it  is  not 
possible  the  Christian  world  should  come  so  lately 
out  of  such  thick  antichristian  darkness,  and  that 
perfection  of  knowledge  should  break  forth  at  once.' 

"  Must  you  not  believe  John  Robinson  contemplated 
further  light  should  break  upon  this  chosen  people  ? " 

"  It   seems   impossible,"    said   Mr.  Ward,    "  that  he 


Meeting  Between  Mr.  Ward  and  Mr.  Benson     127 

who  made  and  tempered  them  to  such  triumphant 
uses  should  withdraw  from  them,  and  give  his  favor 
to  another.  Your  sect  claims  that  we  make  absolute 
dominion  alone  the  type  of  Deity.  Surely  he  who 
rides  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  who  sets  the  move- 
ment of  the  stars,  who  made  this  wondrous  frame  of 
man,  must  possess  resistless  power." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  but  his  Fatherhood  equals  his  might, 
Brother  Ward.  When  I  am  told  God  smites  without 
pity,  and  elects  whom  he  will  destroy,  I  withstand 
the  blow ;  but  when  I  read,  God  so  loved  the  world 
that  he  gave  his  Son,  that  whoever  believeth  in  him 
should  not  perish,  it  is  another  thing.  I  adore  his 
glory  and  dominion,  I  magnify  his  wisdom,  but  all 
my  soul  goes  out  to  him  who  loves  me." 

"Do  you  then  expect  subversion  of  present  teach- 
ing ?  " 

"  I  confidently  look  for  the  overthrow  of  all  creeds 
which  elevate  dogma  above  the  teaching  of  Christ. 
It  is  given  to  none  of  woman  born  to  warp  one  word 
of  his.  He  calls  us  kindred ;  and  this  unity  shall 
bind  the  earth  to  him  at  last.  Dogma  shall  fail,  its 
dominion  cease,  but  the  love  of  Christ  our  Lord  shall 
establish  a  government  Avhose  increase  and  authority 
shall  be  'from  sea  to  sea,  and  from  the  rivers  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth.'  " 

Mr.  Ward  grasped  his  hand  as  they  silently  rode 
apart,  and  in  the  exaltation  of  that  hour  Mr.  Wilson 
was  silent. 


128  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    MORNING    AFTKR    SINGING-SCHOOL 

THE  Monday  after  Mr.  Ward's  pastoral  visit,  Tom 
Wilson  took  the  ponderous  key  which  the  district 
kept  in  Mr.  Wilson's  custody,  and  ran  up  the  hill 
to  open  the  door  of  the  schoolhouse ;  but  he  slowed 
a  trifle  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  solemn  structure, 
forty  feet  square,  for  it  seemed  a  bit  pokerish  to  think 
of  entering  it  alone. 

Its  sides  were  covered  with  very  thick  matched 
boards,  black,  patched  with  moss  and  broken  by  win- 
dows high  up  towards  the  eaves,  hidden  by  plank 
shutters. 

A  plank  door  hinged  on  a  corner  post ;  and  a  great 
squat  chimney  perched  astride  the  ridgepole  had  oc- 
casionally dropped  a  brick  upon  the  roof,  until  the  chim- 
ney was  ragged,  and  the  shaven  shingles  rotted  to 
leaking  by  its  fragments. 

Tom  caught  his  breath  when  the  groaning  door 
turned  miserably  back  on  its  rusty  hinges  into  the 
dark,  un ventilated  entry.  He  had  heard  that  ghosts 
revelled  in  such  haunts,  and  black  cats  rushed  spit- 
ting and  scratching  from  similar  places. 

He  was    in   a   mild    state  of   shiver   and    goose-Ht'.sh 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  129 

so  delightful  to  a  plucky  boy  ;  but  he  whistled 
"  Yankee  Doodle,"  and  marched  into  the  darkened, 
musty  schoolroom,  jumped  upon  a  bench,  threw  up 
a  window,  and  unhasped  a  blind,  then  another,  and 
a  third  ;  but  he  shrieked  when  the  southern  blind 
swung  heavily  back,  for  a  couple  of  winged  creatures 
flew  almost  from  within  his  hand.  However,  they 
proved  to  be  enormous  bats,  which  struck  blindly 
about,  and  then  flapped  up  into  the  shadows  of  the 
drooping  eaves. 

He  ran  down  the  descending  aisle  which  separated 
the  girls'  benches  from  those  of  the  boys,'  crossed 
the  floor,  and  standing  on  the  entry  door-sill  looked 
back  to  a  narrow  front  seat  ten  feet  away,  where  the 
A-B-C  class  was  accustomed  to  dangle  its  numb 
little  feet  and  twist  itself  into  all  manner  of  shapes. 

From  there,  desks  and  floor  rose  gradually  to  the 
south  wall. 

There  was  but  one  aisle,  which  divided  the  benches 
in  half  ;  and  of  course  one  end  of  the  tiers  of  seats 
touched  the  wall. 

The  master's  desk,  ample  and  high  enough  to  seat 
unruly  boys  under,  filled  the  eastern  end  of  the  floor, 
except  two  spaces,  one  separating  it  from  the  low  seat, 
and  the  other  from  the  girls'  shelves,  which  were  built 
into  the  north  side,  and  occupied  the  space  to  the  great 
fireplace.  They  were  constructed  for  the  girls'  cloaks 
and  hoods  ;  but  the  upper  shelf  had  long  been  given  up 


130  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

to  spare  books,  inkstands,  everybody's  dinner-pail,  and 
whatever  indefinite  gear  the  master  held  in  pawn  for 
good  behavior.  An  immense  chimney  and  fireplace, 
with  a  brick  hearth  which  ran  halfway  across  the  floor, 
wedged  itself  in  close  between  shelves  and  door. 

The  smoky  west  wall  was  constructed  of  matched 
boards,  whereon  singing  or  school  master  might  dem- 
onstrate, if  he  could  find  space  between  .  crevices 
of  dovetailed  edges  sufficient  to  put  staff  or  sum. 
Along  a  crack  betwixt  two  planks  the  worn  flooring 
plainly  showed  where  cowhide  boots  had  "  toed  the 
mark." 

Gauzy  filaments,  airy  cobwebs,  hung  from  ceiling  to 
floor,  and  thrilled  him  by  a  recurrent  sense  of  hob- 
goblins. 

"  Timenation ! "  he  yelled,  driving  his  hands  into 
his  pockets  and  facing  the  door,  as  he  heard  dry  chips 
crunching  beneath  rapid  footsteps. 

"  Oh,  you  ain't  scart  ever,  be  ye  ?  "  laughed  Dorothy, 
running  in.  "  Ugh !  isn't  it  cobwebby  and  musty  ? 
Come  along ;  breakfast's  ready,"  and  they  went  out 
over  the  hill  in  a  flash. 

By  nine  o'clock  women  came  bringing  wooden  piggins 
of  soft  lye-soap  and  fine  sand  in  pewter  porringers,  and 
swept,  scoured,  and  dusted,  till  Lettice  declared  the 
pl&ce  clean,  "  if  ever  anything  was." 

Besides  lighting  a  fire  and  bringing  water,  boys  raked 
the  dooryard  clean,  brought  in  wood  and  kindlings  for 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  131 

singing-school,  oiled  the  hinges  of  the  doors,  and  teased 
the  girls. 

The  boys  waited  for  the  fire  to  die  out  after  the  task 
was  completed,  amusing  themselves  with  games  of  tag, 
and  running  matches ;  but  the  women  soon  repaired 
to  Mr.  Wilson's  for  a  cup  of  tea,  which  Jack  told  them 
was  drawing  for  their  refreshment,  and  also  for  a  little 
restful  gossip. 

Singing-school  evening  ended  a  September  day  such 
as  became  a  ripened  season. 

The  sun  was  throwing  his  last  bright  bolts  of  light 
from  behind  the  southern  spur  of  Sugarloaf,  and  cool 
purple  clouds,  banded  with  yellow  and  streaked  with 
red,  lay  reflected  deep  in  the  pond's  blue  water,  when 
Lavina  Smith  and  her  brother  Ben  ran  down  the  steep 
side  hill,  reddening  with  early  autumn  dyes,  and  cut 
into  the  forest. 

Emerging,  Ben  ran  up  the  ridge,  while  Lavina  has- 
tened to  Mr.  Wilson's,  took  the  big  key,  and  sprang 
along  the  level  and  up  hill,  her  bright  cloak  flying  out 
like  brilliant  wings. 

"  Hello  !  "  called  Ben  by  the  schoolhouse  door ;  "  come 
along  quick.  I've  stripped  off  birch  bark  to  light  the 
tire." 

They  kindled  a  fire  quickly ;  then  Ben  pulled  two 
iron  candlesticks  from  his  pockets,  and  Lavina  laid  some 
candles  beside  them  on  the  teacher's  desk. 

Ben  put  a  candle   into  a  stick,  took  the  tongs,  and 


132  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

broke  a  live  coal  from  a  crumbling  brand,  blew  upon  it 
till  tongues  of  flame  darted  out,  by  which  he  lighted  his 
candle,  just  as  Tom  and  Jack  came  in  bringing  extra 
chairs. 

Outside,  cheery  "  How  d'ye  do's  "  and  "  How  be  ye's  " 
of  those  on  foot,  and  those  who  jogged  up  on  horseback, 
preluded  the  entrance  of  various  groups. 

Soon  Mr.  Mason  threw  himself  from  his  saddle. 
Jack  rode  the  animal  down  to  his  father's  barn,  and 
the  singing-master  went  briskly  in;  shook  hands  with 
acquaintances,  and  laowed  to  those  unknown.  He  wore 
homespun  trousers,  blue  broadcloth  coat  and  waistcoat, 
buttoned  with  brass  buttons,  and  high  black  silk  stock. 

As  early  as  1807  the  Plymouth  Musical  Society  was 
incorporated,  electing  Kev.  Nathan  Ward  president. 
Those  valleys  and  hamlets  were  the  home  of  song. 

Mr.  Mason  was  born  to  it ;  he  loved  harmony,  and 
loved  to  teach  it.  His  equipment  was  a  singing-book, 
pointer,  chalk,  and  tuning-fork.  He  wasted  no  time  in 
compliments,  though  polite  and  amiable. 

"  We  are  very  much  pleased  to  have  so  many  friends 
come  to  see  us  start  off,"  said  he.  "  Mr.  Wilson,  will 
you  take  a  seat  in  the  desk,  and  I  guess  there's  room 
for  three  or  four  more.  Mrs.  Lane,  will  you  and  these 
other  ladies  sit  in  the  chairs  ?  I  want  the  singers  as 
near  me  as  possible,  so  there  will  be  plenty  of  spare 
room  on  the  back  seat.  Now  school  will  come  to  order 
right  away ;  we  must  make  all  we  can  out  of  this  and 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  133 

every  evening,  for  our  thirty  lessons  will  soon  be  gone. 
Take  first  seat  of  the  tribble,  Miss  Wilson." 

The  school  scrambled  into  place,  Huldah  sighing  as 
she  went  to  the  head  of  the  altos  solemnly  and  deliber- 
ately, as  a  foreordained  right. 

"  We'll  have  a  sing  before  recess,  and  warm  up  a 
little.  Turn  to  the  first  piece,  '  Old  Hundred,'  <  Praise 
God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow.'  Sing  slowly,  about 
this  time.  Follow  the  stick." 

At  such  a  moment  an  accident  would  naturally  hap- 
pen to  Tom  Wilson,  and  it  did ;  just  as  the  expectant  si- 
lence was  to  be  broken  by  the  first  chords,  when  every 
hand  was  marking  time,  every  eye  on  the  pointer,  every 
form  erect  and  stiff  as  buckram,  rap-ap-ap-ap-ap  went 
something,  striking  bench  and  seat,  bumping  along  down 
onto  the  floor.  Tom  had  forgotten  his  candlestick,  so 
stuck  his  candle  carelessly  to  the  desk.  It  toppled  over, 
and  rolled  off. 

The  tense  nerves  relaxed,  attention  straying  to  Tom, 
who,  being  near  the  wall,  pulled  himself  upon  the  seat ; 
and  those  who  occupied  it  hitched  forward,  and  bent 
over,  giving  him  room  to  pass  and  repass  behind  them. 
He  recovered  his  straying  property  rather  awkwardly, 
yet  betraying  a  keen  sense  of  humor.  The  master  said 
composedly,  as  seemed  meet  for  one  living  on  the  verge 
of  casualties,  — 

"  Put  the  end  of  your  candle  over  Ben's  light  till  the 
tallow  melts.  There  !  now  hold  it  down  on  your  desk  till 


134  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

it  cools.     That's  it.    We're  ready  again ;  let  me  see  every 
hand  marking  time,  one  —  two  —  three  —  four." 

Watching  the  steady  beat,  he  sharply  bit  his  tuning- 
fork,  put  it  to  his  ear,  and  gave  the  pitch,  - —  "  do  —  me  — 
sol  —  do ;  sol  —  me  —  do,"  each  part  taking  its  own 
note,  clear  and  true.  "  Sing ! "  The  healthy  young 
voices  struck  those  mighty  chords  lovingly,  if  crudely, 
and  poured  forth  the  adoring  strains  with  the  spirit, 
and  much  understanding. 

"  That  was  well  sung.  Now  ( Antioch  ; '  give  those 
high  notes  full  and  firm,  Miss  Wilson." 

So  they  sang  through  wailing  "  China,"  "  St.  Martin's," 
and  kindred  hymns  ;  after  recess  changing  to  lessons  on 
the  "board,"  and  that  most  trying  exercise  of  all, 
"sounding"  voices.  After  he  had  drilled  them  in 
staff,  bars,  clefs,  keys,  rests,  major  scales  and  minor 
scales  to  his  satisfaction,  Mr.  Mason  gave  out  a  tune, 
"  Siloam,"  saying,  — 

"  Sing  it  very  gently ;  this  is  your  time,"  marking  a 
very  moderate  movement  with  his  stick.  They  sang, 
and  he  turned  an  ear,  and  bent  attentively  toward  the 
altos  and  trebles. 

"  Now  the  next  verse,  same  time ;  sing !  " 

During  the  singing  he  accorded  critical  attention  to 
tenors  and  basses. 

"  I  hear  a  discord  on  this  side  ;  some  new  voices  which 
don't  keep  the  pitch.  The  tenors  may  sound  alone; 
now,  every  one  with  me,  do  —  me  — sol  —  do.  Yes,  I  see, 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  135 

Tom  Wilson  don't  quite  hit  it.  Now  the  basses,  if  you 
please,  do  —  me  —  sol  —  me  —  do.  Ah,  David  King  and 
Billy  Batchelder  are  a  little  off.  You  three  boys  come 
out  here ;  we'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

They  blundered  out  behind  the  rows  of  pupils,  and 
stood  confusedly  before  him,  tugging  at  their  spencers, 
and  wishing  themselves  in  the  bottom  of  the  pond. 

However,  they  wrestled  manfully  with  the  notes  Mr. 
Mason  took  from  his  tuning-fork  and  passed  to  them. 
Sometimes  their  efforts  ended  in  croaks  marvellous 
enough  to  surprise  their  friends,  then  they  giggled,  and 
the  whole  school  joined  in  chorus ;  again,  their  voices 
jumped  clear  over  all  bars,  and  they  bit  their  lips  and 
turned  scarlet,  while  the  school  screamed  with  merri- 
ment. At  last  the  master  asked  the  pupils  to  help,  and 
finally  sent  David  and  Billy  to  the  altos,  and  Tom  to 
the  trebles,  saying,  — 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  scholars,  for  so  kindly 
sounding  with  these  boys.  We  have  all  been  begipners, 
and  we  should  always  be  helpers ;  the  drill  has  been 
good  for  you  as  well  as  for  them.  They'll  be  able  to 
help  others  after  a  while,  for  they're  going  to  make  first- 
rate  singers.  We  have  only  time  to  sing  a  couple  of 
pieces  more.  Turn  to 'Ware.'"  Nine  o'clock  came,  and 
school  closed  promptly.  The  young  men  gathered  by 
the  outside  door,  awaiting  sweethearts,  half  of  them  too 
bashful  to  offer  an  arm  or  make  an  articulate  sound 
when  the  equally  coy  maidens  appeared. 


136     .  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

That  delicious  kind  of  torture  was  especially  imposed 
upon  them  that  evening;  because  one's  partner  might  be 
continued  through  the  winter's  festivities,  or  even  for 
a  lifetime.  There  was  considerable  anxiety  outside, 
and  not  a  little  solicitude  by  the  girl's  shelves,  as  they 
put  on  their  things.  Personal  interest  was  lessened, 
however,  by  observing  John  go  home  alone,  and  'Lisbeth 
intently  settle  Dorothy's  bonnet  as  she.  passed  Phil's 
offered  arm,  nor  answered  his  low,  "  May  I  see  you 
home?" 

He  flushed  and  paled,  but  recovered  himself  in  season 
to  repeat  the  offer  to  Eunice,  who  laid  her  bare,  chubby 
hand  on  his  homespun  sleeve,  and  gayly  tripped  away 
with  him. 

'Lisbeth  rose  next  morning  without  thought  of  any 
reckoning  for  that  she  refused  Phil's  escort;  so  after 
breakfast,  singing  snatches  of  the  last  evening's  music, 
she  brought  the  great  wool-wheel  to  the  east  room 
hearth,  because  a  smouldering  brand  or  two  were  neces- 
sary at  early  morning  for  drawing  to  a  nice  and  even 
fineness  the  long  threads  of  woollen  yarn  she  was  spin- 
ning. 

Spinning  wool  was  an  enticing  employment.  Not  all 
the  laid  work  wrought  by  her  on  pale  winter  afternoons, 
with  the  sunlight  in  her  hair,  and  glinting  the  fadeless 
crewels  of  her  broidery,  nor  drawing  in  of  beautifully 
dyed  gloves  and  mittens  with  homemade  hooks,  by  faint 
candles,  that  threw  her  face  into  such  witchery  of  light 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  137 

and  shade  as  induced  the  boys  to  pause  with  sums  half 
done  upon  their  slates  ;  no  work  nor  accomplishment 
female  hands  have  ever  touched  was  so  becoming  to  her 
or  to  any  of  womankind  as  that. 

She  stood  erect  beside  the  wheel,  which  murmured  or 
stormed  according  as  it  revolved  slowly  or  rapidly,  hold- 
ing a  wooder.  wheel-finger  in  her  right  hand,  which 
rested  on  a  spoke.  A  roll  depended  from  the  spindle- 
nib,  and  with  her  left  hand  she  measured  a  length  of  it 
necessary  to  a  thread,  making  five  skeins  to  the  pound, 
and  pinched  it  at  that  point  between  the  thumb  and 
finger,  turned  the  wheel  moderately,  while  taking  three 
backward  steps  and  drawing  the  roll  out  to  proper  fine- 
ness, which  being  done,  she  twirled  the  wheel  till  its 
spokes  seemed  quivering  gauze  within  its  rim,  and  the 
woollen  fibres  were  well  twisted ;  then  she  reversed  it 
sufficiently  to  unwind  the  yarn  from  spindle-tip  to  head. 
Again  moving  the  wheel  forward,  and  advancing  lightly 
with  long  step,  she  let  the  thread  wind  up,  and  balanced 
on  one  foot  while  she  ran  it  down  to  the  spindle-point, 
and  once  more  slipped  a  few  inches  of  roll  between 
thumb  and  finger,  caught  it  fast,  and  so  continued 
spinning.  She  maintained  a  swift  or  leisurely  move- 
ment all  the  time,  every  muscle  in  rhythmic  play  and 
even  exercise. 

Her  supple  person,  completely  poised,  advanced,  re- 
treated, swayed,  answering  the  urgent  signals  of  the 
fleet  limbs. 


138  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  right  arm  was  now  ahead,  now  behind,  and  again 
spiritedly  described  a  circle;  the  left  drew  out,  and 
guided  the  yarn  with  elegant  sweep  and  curve.  Spin- 
ning was  the  symmetrical  conjunction  of  art,  of  gym- 
nastics, and  of  labor. 

Verily  those  daughters  of  the  hills  who  wrought  at 
spindle  and  loom  often  carried  themselves  after  a 
'stately  fashion ;  and  such  classic  mould  of  limb  and 
figure  as  seldom  poses  before  an  artist  sometimes  loi- 
tered among  canterbury-bells  and  hollyhocks. 

So  'Lisbeth  moved  to  the  pastoral  hum  of  the  wheel 
that  morning. 

Near  by,  Mrs.  Wilson  banded  a  distaff,  and  Lettice 
tied  corn-husks  at  intervals  around  skeins  of  double- 
and-twisted  yarn,  previous  to  throwing  them  into  blue 
dye,  to  be  colored  for  "  clouded  feetin'." 

Dame  Wilson  knitted  in  a  peremptory  fashion.  There 
was  also  an  ominous  shake  of  cap-border.  Mr.  Wil- 
son had  spoken  confidentially  to  her  that  morning 
before  he  went  afield,  since  when  she  had  seemed 
much  disturbed. 

That  girl  of  Thomas's,  the  resultant  of  her  father's 
strength  of  purpose,  unbent  will,  and  her  mother's 
loving  kindness,  was  a  sore  puzzle.  If  she  possessed 
unusual  force,  or  inclined  to  guide  herself,  she  was 
also  compassionate  and  pacific.  Neither  the  dame  nor 
Mr.  Wilson  understood  her,  but  they  agreed  she  was 
"  queer,"  and,  further,  that  she  must  obey ;  therefore 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  139 

a  strong  hand,  in  fact  two  of  them,  should  immediately 
be  laid  upon  her. 

The  difficulty  was  how  to  lay  them  on.  She  thought 
to  begin  carefully,  and  follow  what  lights  appeared. 

"  Thomas  seems  kinder  poorly  this  mornin',  Marthy," 
she  said. 

"  It  is  the  sheep,  I  reckon." 

«  Sheep  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  his  and  Slimpson's  seem  to  be  mixed  up ;  and 
if  the  marks  are  dim  he  is  likely  to  lose  some." 

"  That  Slimpson  tribe  is  the  poorest  trash  I  ever  see, 
or  ever  want  to;  but  'tain't  sheep  ails  him." 

Lettice  perceived  troublesome  symptoms,  and  hurried 
to  allay  them. 

"  Pshaw,  grau'ma'ara !  he  was  well  tew  breakfast." 

"  Meals  is  a  poor  place  tew  find  trouble." 

"  Tends  some  on  what  'tis,  an'  who  has  it.  When 
folks  git  kinder  still,  I  feel  for  'em ;  but  when  they 
stir  up  the  house  like  a  hasty  pudden,  it  don't  worry 
me  none." 

"  I  dunno,  Lettice ;  but  " 

"  Well,  I  dew  know.  There's  Gale  lives  under  Sugar- 
loaf  ;  he  was  awful  cut  up  tew  appearance  when  his  wife 
died.  Becky  Peasley  was  workin'  there,  an'  she  tole 
me  she  never  see  nothin'  tew  beat  it ;  an'  she  flashed 
'round  lively  for  a  week  or  tew,  till  he  kinder  got  over 
his  sorrer;  an'  she  said  nobody  would  b'leve  the  sight 
of  currant  tarts,  scalloped  all  round  the  aiges,  jest  as 


140  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

his  wife  used  tew  fix  'em,  an'  jam  an'  hot  biskit  an' 
pies,  it  took  tew  pull  him  through.  All  the  time 
he  was  bent  and  determined  that  he  could'n'  stan' 
it  'thout  her ;  but,  good  land  !  he  merrid  agin  in  six 
months." 

Lettice  glanced  queerly  over  her  sharp  nose  before 
adding,  — 

"  Merrid  Becky  herself ;  an'  she  tole  Mis'  Willard  in 
my  hearin',  Becky  did,  says  she  (an'  she  was  snivillin'), 
when  he  begun  coaxin'  she  tole  him  no,  stidcly,  till  she 
was  rollin'  out  pie-crust  in  the  butt'ry  one  day,  an'  he 
come  in  master  onexpected,  an  says  he,  '  Becky,  you 
wouldn't  be  so  allfired  hard  on  a  feller  if  you  knowed 
the  fust  time  he  thought  of  askin'  ye  was  when  you  was 
makin'  us  comf 't'ble  the  day  Philena  was  buried ; '  an' 
she  says,  says  she  tew  Mis'  Willard,  'That  fetched  me ;' 
and  I  sh'd  thought  'twould." 

"What  you're  sayin'  hain't  nothin'  tew  dew  with 
Thomas's  diffikilty." 

"  Rheumatics,  —  comin'  fall  so,"  persisted  Lettice. 

"No,  it  ain't." 

"  Well,  if  it  ain't  sheep  nor  rheumatics,  I'm  beat." 

Mrs.  Wilson  sighed  patiently,  inquiring,  — 

"  Has  Thomas  spoke  of  any  trouble  ?  "  'Lisbeth  was 
spinning  slowly,  lest  the  hum  should  disturb  her  grand- 
mother, and  listened  intently  to  hear  the  mystery  of 
that  overwrought  cap-ruffle. 

"Thomas  got  all  flustered  up  tew  singing-school." 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  141 

«  Flustered  !     Thomas  !     What  at  ?  " 

"'Lisbeth." 

"Me!" 

"  Yes,  me,"  she  answered  mockingly,  losing  her  tem- 
per. "  What  a  plague  ailed  the  strings  of  Dorothy's 
bunnit  that  you  must  fuss  with  'em,  seein'  nothin'  nor 
nobody  from  them  cloak-shelves  home,  hey  ?  Spitin' 
your  father,  as  I  never  see  one  spited  afore.  You  know 
what  he's  set  on ;  an'  knowin',  left  the  Harmon  boy 
stannin'  there  all  cut  up." 

"Pooh,  grandma  !  he  went  home  with  Eunice." 

"  Did,  did  he  ?  Queer,  wa'n't  it  ?  What  made  him  ? 
Needn't  tell  me,  —  you're  plannin'  tew  merry  the  May- 
hew  upstart." 

"  Grandmother  !  " 

"  'Zactly  what  you're  up  tew.  Takes  a  smarter  gal'n 
you  tew  pull  wool  over  my  eyes." 

"  You  speak,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  as  if  'Lisbeth  has 
no  choice  except  one  of  these  young  men." 

"  We  shall  find  she'll  merry  one  of  'em,  though  there's 
chances  plenty.  Mr.  Hight,  poor  man,  left  with  six 
childern,  an'  needs  her." 

Lettice  pulled  her  forehead,  inquiring,  — 

"  How  ole  is  he  ?  " 

"Not  very  ole,  I'm  sure." 

"'Bout  sixty,  I  persoom.  'Lisbeth  wouldn't  make  a 
becomin'  relick." 

"'Tend  tew  your  yarn.     As  for  this  gal,   she's  one 


142  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

thing  laid  out  afore  her,  an'  it's  obedience  'cordin'  tew 
Scripter." 

"  Why,  grandmother  " 

"  Not  a  word,  'Lisbeth,  not  a  single  syll'ble  !  You've 
gone  to  the  end  of  your  rope,  you  ungrateful,  diso- 
bedient gal  ;  an'  if  I  was  your  father  you'd  merry 
Philip  or  leave  this  house,  one  or  t'other,  an'  that 
quick,  tew." 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  exclaimed  Lettice. 

«  Don't  think  it'll  be  done,  hey  ?  " 

"No;  an'  I  know  'twon't.  This  house'd  be  a  sweet, 
pooty  sight  'thout  her." 

"  You  are  saying  too  much,  mother,"  added  Mrs. 
WTilson,  laying  the  distaff  down  dejectedly.  Deep 
tones  and  frowning  brows  accentuated  the  bitterness 
of  the  reply  to  both  women. 

"  Here  you  be,  Lettice,  advisin'  an'  teachin'.  Where'd 
you  come  from  ?  Do  you  remember  ?  I  sh'd  think 
you'd  feel  boun'  tew  us." 

"  Yes ;  I  am  boun'  all  the  time,  day  an'  night,  fair 
weather  an'  foul,  tew  jest  them  tew,  '  till  death  us  do 
part,' "  said  the  quivering  voice,  using  those  sacred 
words  because  she  knew  none  else  so  binding,  and 
raising  her  plain  face,  transfigured  by  the  love-light 
shining  there,  toward  the  woman  and  child. 

"  Much  ableeged,"  ironically.  "  Pleased  tew  hear 
how  'tis ;  but  you  understan'  that  gal  merries  Phil 
Harmon  or  leaves.  As  tew  you,  Marthy,  you  spared 


The  Morning  After  Singing-School  143 

the  rod,  an'  there's  your  child,  'cordin'  tew  promise.  I 
tole  Thomas  time  an'  agin  'fore  he  brought  you  here 
that  you  hadn't  the  spunk  of  a  goose,  an  " 

"  Say  no  more  to  my  mother,"  really  commanded 
'Lisbeth,  holding  the  trembling  woman  to  her  strong 
young  heart ;  and  sheltered  there,  girlhood  returned  to 
Martha  Wilson  as  a  dream.  She  remembered  the  gentle 
faith  brought  to  that  house,  and  how  the  husband  had 
gradually  gone  from  her  to  the  arbitrary  mother,  until 
to  herself  she  seemed  simply  the  half -forgotten  supple- 
ment to  a  domineering  man,  who  demanded  all,  giving 
nothing ;  but  ripening  years  were  surely  bringing  return. 
Such  defrauded  souls  find  consolation  somewhere  in  the 
recompensing  years  of  God.  Severity  had  driven  the 
children  to  her  loving  heart,  and  they  rejoiced  in  her  as 
the  exceeding  joy  of  their  lives. 

She  was  that  supreme  and  blessed  woman,  —  a  mother 
beloved,  and  the  defiant  old  will  could  not  harm  her 
any  more ;  still  a  palsying  fear  concerning  the  girl  smote 
her  heart. 

The  old  lady,  dumb  for  a  moment  with  choking  rage, 
linally  stormed  out, — 

"The  Bible  says  ole  folks  air  for  counsel,  but  stiddy 
of  that  they're  slighted  an'  put  upon  an'  flung  at. 
Have  you  tended  tew  what  I'm  say  in',  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

'•'  I  have  heard  it  all." 

"  What  air  you  goin'  tew  dew  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  am  very  sorry,  grandmother." 


144  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  old  lady  eyed  her  disdainfully,  saying,  — 

"  Looks  like  it,  with  your  set,  f  rowniu'  face  ;  but  one 
thing  can  be  depended  on,  you  will  merry  Phil  or  leave 
this  house." 

"  What  dumb  foolishness  !  "  exclaimed  the  maid. 

"  Lettice  !  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  that's  what  1  said,  an'  stan'  tew  it. 
The  idee !  Lor'  a  massy,  there's  the  King  !  " 


'..  CHAPTER   XIV 

DAME    WILSON    AND    A    VISIT 

THE  King  entered  with  a  smile  that  seemed  a  mix- 
ture of  anger  and  drollery,  saying,  — 

"  Good-mornin',  Mis'  Wilson,  an'  gran'ma'am,  an'  the 
rest.  Come  'long,  pups.  Watch,  you  lay  down ;  an'  you, 
Spring,  git  under  the  table.  We've  had  a  tormented 
hard  run,  the  dogs  an'  me,  since  afore  sun-up.  A  fox 
picked  off  one  of  Nabby's  chickens.  We've  follered 
over  logs  and  slippery  stones.  He  crossed  the  brook 
more'n  twenty  times,  but  his  pelt's  out  on  your  wood- 
pile." 

"'Lisbeth,  give  Mr.  King  a  bite,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
seeing  an  opportunity  to  send  her  out,  as  the  King 


Dame  Wilson  and  the  King  145 

dropped  on  a  convenient  table  corner,  and  mopped  his 
forehead  with  a  red  bandanna.  He  went  right  to  the 
question.  "  Don't  want  nothin',  Mis'  Wilson ;  but  Jupi- 
ter 'Gustus,  gran'ma'am  !  you  ort  tew  heerd  em  sing  last 
night.  They  did  give  '  Ole  Hundered '  an'  them  other 
tunes  a  hist.  Some  pesky  good  fun  arterwards.  One 
boy  got  mistook." 

"  We  sha'n't  prob'ly  have  tew  go  naborin'  'bout  it," 
said  the  old  lady  tartly. 

"  Not  naborin'  ?  course  not  —  here,  pups,  lay  down. 
What  ails  them  dogs  ?  Come  out  an'  set  up  if  you  feel 
better.  Tain't  naborin' ;  David  King  never  hated  him- 
self for  dewin'  that. 

"  Phil  is  cousin  tew  our  house,  an'  he's  a  good  feller, 
Phil  is ;  make  Eunice  a  real  good  man.  We  don't  want 
no  foreordination  spilt  by  upsettin'  that  dish.  I  dew 
hope  nobody  will  be  sech  a  dumb  fool  as  tew  run 
plumb  agin  the  decrees  'bout  them."  He  gave  one  of 
the  dogs  a  push  with  the  toe  of  his  boot,  finishing 
his  speech  by  saying,  "  Go  'long  out  if  you  want  tew." 

"  Well,  I  never  ! "  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  pushing 
her  glasses  up  into  the  raving  border  of  her  cap. 

"  Didn't  you,  now  ?  Course  I  heerd  as  I  come  in  ; 
but  you're  awfully  mistook.  Take  a  pinch  of  snuff  — 
good  —  maccaboy.  Tilings  is  puzzlin'  once  in  a  while  ; 
but  I  was  studyin'  this  mornin'  runnin'  up  by  them  big 
pines  where  the  birches  grow,  an'  I  says  tew  myself, 
says  I,  '  That's  the  way  things  air  fixed  if  folks'll  ou'y 


146  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

let  'em  alone.  Them  wavin'  birches  grow  best  on  the 
warm  side  of  them  great  pines  as  hold  up  their  arms 
agin  the  nor'-easters ;  there  they  live  longest,  an'  the 
bark  is  smoothest ; '  an',  gran'ma'am,  I  says  tew  myself, 
though  mebbe  you  won't  b'leve  it,  I  says,  '  'Lisbeth's  that 
very  birch,  an'  John's  that  livehearted  pine.'  Yes, 
ma'am,  I  did." 

"  Why,  David  King !     Why,  David  King  !  " 

It  was  all  she  could  say,  being  so  shaken  by  his  con- 
tinuance of  conversation  to  which  he  came  accidentally 
and  should  not  have  noticed.  Verily  he  was  a  law  to 
himself. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  an'  his  character  is  jest  as  wholesome  as 
the  balsam  of  them  trees." 

"  Character !  good  deal  you  know  about  it,  never 
larnin'  even  the  catechism." 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  never  did,  that's  a  fac'  ;  prob'ly 
'twouldn't  dew  me  no  good  on  this  pint." 

"  Sartin,  if  you  f ollered  it ;  for  it's  a  book  writ  by 
men  as  knew  the  hidden  meanin's  of  Scripter,  an'  set 
'em  afore  us  for  lights." 

"  Hid  things  is  all-fired  hard  tew  find  out,  as  I've 
seen  this  mornin',  Mis'.  Wilson." 

"  Why,  David  King,  I'm  s'prised  " 

"  I  don't  want  tew  say  a  single  word  agin  your  lights, 

—  wouldn't  for  the  world,  —  but  if  you  set  'em  up  agin 

gospel,  fussin'  an'  tinkerin'  tew  suit  this  an'  that,  it's 

like   holdin'  up  a  Jack-a-lantern   in  a  foggy  night,  or 


Dame  Wilson  and  the  King  147 

mistakin'  a  piece  of  punk  for  a  warmin'  fire.  You 
remember  them  beaver-dams  what  us't  tew  be  over 
tew  West  Plymouth  ?  Nothin'  but  an  alder  bog  fust ; 
good  for  snakes,  that's  all.  Well,  them  little  beavers 
dammed  the  brook,  an'  kep'  it  under  water  till  all  the 
trees  an'  things  from  Hoyt  Hill  way  back  was  drownded 
out  an'  rotted,  long  of  all  the  stuff  as  washed  down 
intew  it,  an'  made  a  rich  bottom.  I've  seen  more'n 
twenty  beaver  houses  stickin'  out  on't,  like  haycocks  in 
a  field;  but  bime  by  a  man,  Blodgett,  I  guess  'twas, 
come  along  an'  settled  there,  an'  when  he  needed  more 
Ian'  he  ups  an'  cuts  the  dam.  Away  swum  the  little 
critters  tew  a  safe  place,  leavin'  all  that  good  medder- 
lan'.  It  spilt  the  colony,  but  made  room  for  folks. 
You  orter  heerd  the  trappers  swear;  but  nobody  can't 
mostly  tell  what's  best  if  he's  sot  agin  it." 

'Lisbeth  came  back,  bringing  a  plate  of  luncheon,  at 
the  same  time  as  girlish  laughter  announced  the  arri- 
val of  Lavina  Smith  and  Mary  King,  who  pushed  back 
their  bonnets  and  entered  sunshiny  and  wholesome,  giv- 
ing a  pleasant  good-morning. 

"  Where  to,  Mary  ?  "  inquired  her  father. 

"  We  are  goin'  to  visit  Ruth ;  an',  Mis'.  Wilson,  we 
called  for  'Lisbeth.  Can  you  spare  her  ?  " 

Mrs.  AVilson  was  much  confused,  but  dimly  saw  the 
request  was  very  opportune,  and  managed  to  reply, 
brokenly,  — 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  —  certainly  —  if  she  wants  to  go." 


148  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  An'  take  your  sampler,"  said  Lavina ;  "  I  want  to 
learn  a  stitch." 

Mr.  King  followed  the  three  girls  out,  and  started 
home.  Soon  they  were  up  the  hill,  and  followed  tho 
winding,  sloping  road,  fringed  by  goldenrod,  to  the 
bridge  of  a  small  brook,  and  across  it  to  where  a  narrow 
grass-bordered  path,  having  stone  steps  at  intervals  in 
its  ascent,  ran  up  to  a*  low,  brown  house,  with  one  door 
midway  its  boarded  side,  and  one  window  to  right  and 
left  of  it.  It  was  closed;  but  Mary  pulled  a  leather 
latchstring,  without  knocking,  and  they  entered,  certain 
of  welcome,  and  happy  to  be  there.  The  widow  and 
Euth  were  happier  still. 

"  Laviny  and  Mary  and  'Lisbeth,  true's  I  live ! " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Willard.  "  Euth,"  she  called,  "  come 
here.  Now  you  have  come  tew  spend  the  day,  I  know." 

"  We  came  to  if  you  ain't  too  busy,  or  goin'  any- 
where," answered  Lavina. 

"We  ain't  goin'  away,  an'  I  ruther  see  these  faces 
than  go  tew  a  quiltin'.  I'm  busy  weavin' ;  allus  am. 
I  must  keep  at  it  till  dinner,  then  I'll  put  on  a  clean 
cap  'n  apun  an'  set  down.  Euth,  take  their  things,  an' 
give  them  some  chairs  —  them  big  ones  with  quishions 
in  'em  ;  "  and  they  were  accordingly  seated  on  cushion- 
covers  of  bright  full  cloth  and  camlet  patchwork. 

"  I  am  glad  you  brought  knitting,  Mary ;  that  is  my 
work  too,"  said  sweet  Euth.  Every  time  the  widow 
changed  spools  she  asked  questions. 


Dame  Wilson  and  the  King  149 

'  Seen  anything  of  the  Fields  lately  ?  I'm  allus 
scairt  tew  ask  after  'em,  Laviny." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Betsey,  grandma  says  old  Mis'  Field 
was  a  witch —  did  awful  queer  things." 

"  Well,  Laviny,  'cordin'  tew  the  best  lights  the  witch- 
ing came  outer  the  cider  berrill,  an'  possessed  the  ole 
man  of  all.  Them  that  likes  witch  stories  can  stick 
tew  'em,  but  common  sense  is  wuth  a  sight  more.  How 
many  tansy  cheeses  has  your  mother  made  ?  " 

"  Ten ;  an'  I  made  two  alone,  every  bit." 

"That'll  be  encouragin'  tew  the  folks  under  Kidder 
Hill ;  "  which  remark  brought  the  swift  color  to  her 
cheeks,  for  Levi  Lane  went  home  with  her  from  sing- 
ing-school. "What  say,  Mary,  can't  tell  much  'bout 
your  father's  crop  ?  " 

"  Pa  says  our  corn  is  mostly  fodder  corn.  He's  goin' 
to  sell  pelts  an'  things  to  make  it  up." 

"  Cert'in,  cert'in.  I  b'leve  your  father's  livin'  comes 
outen  the  woods  an'  water,  more'n  outen  the  ground 
an'  hoein' ;  but,  law !  the  livin'  comes.  That  is  a  nice 
check,  'Lisbeth.  Your  mother  an'  Lettice  air  master- 
hands  at  spinnin'  an'  weavin'  fine  stuff ; "  and  so  along 
at  intervals  the  loom  paused  for  laugh  and  gossip.  All 
at  once  the  clatter  ceased  in  the  middle  of  a  spool. 

"  Why,  Ruth,  dew  go  an'  see  the  time  !  " 

She  went  into  the  little  bare  studded  entry,  leaned 
over  the  window-ledge,  observed  where  the  sun  slanted 
across  some  lines  drawn  upon  it,  and  announced,  — 


150  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"It  is  most  half-past  ten." 

"Put  the  smallest  kittle  on  the  fire,  an'  one  for 
p'taters." 

"  Yes'm,"  she  answered,  and  took  the  kettles  from  a 
clean  board  shelf,  low  under  the  small  bench  that  stood 
beneath  the  window,  partly  filled  them  with  water,  and 
hung  over  the  fire. 

"  Throw  a  good  maple  stick  under,"  said  her  mother ; 
"an'  take  the  peck  basket  an'  go  up  intew  the  garden 
next  tew  the  barn.  You'll  find  a  few  late  cranberry 
beans  tangled  in  them  weeds ;  I  left  'em  for  late 
shellin'." 

"Yes'm." 

"  Carry  the  hoe  tew  dig  a  hill  of  p'taters  coming 
back." 

"  Yes'm ; "  then  facing  the  company,  Ruth  asked, 
"  Would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  and  "Yes,"  and  "Yes."  So  out  they 
walked,  unbonneted,  into  the  garden,  plucking  hand- 
fuls  of  marigolds  on  the  way.  Ruth  pulled  the  ripe 
potato  vines  straightly,  shook  the  hanging  potatoes  off 
as  orderly  as  a  skilful  boy  would  do. 

When  it  was  time,  two  moved  the  Bible  and 
Mrs.  Willard's  "  specs "  from  the  table,  drew  it  out, 
and  laid  it  with  blue  china.  Two  danced  with  the 
waterpail  down  where  the  rocky  bank  jutted  over, 
and  dense  maples  shaded  a  clear,  deep  pool,  and 
thrust  the  pail  down  into  it.  A  trout,  longer  than 


Dame  Wilson  and  the  King  151 

'Lisbeth's  hand,  darted  from  under  as  they  drew  the 
pail  out. 

A  painter  could  scarcely  find  a  lovelier  subject 
than  that  one  after  dinner,  so  natural,  so  full  of  life, 
when  Mrs.  Willard  joined  them,  clad  in  fresh  cap  and 
dress,  and  wearing  a  black  kerchief  smoothly  folded 
across  her  breast,  as  she  and  the  four  young  girls  sat 
in  the  centre  of  that  great  square  room  on  a  spot- 
less white  floor,  bare  joists  around,  and  bare  beams 
overhead. 

At  one  side  the  tall  red  dresser,  at  another  the 
loom.  Knots  of  red,  green,  gray,  blue,  and  white  yarn 
hung  from  pegs  driven  into  the  studding.  They  were 
mixed  with  reels,  wheel-heads,  and  reeds. 

There  was  spirit  and  life  in  the  picture,  contributed 
by  the  temper  and  fun  of  Lavina,  the  mezzo  of  Mary, 
the  touch  of  superior  grace  and  strength  in  'Lisbeth, 
and  the  beaming  hospitality  of  Mrs.  Willard  and  Ruth, 
all  springing,  as  grass  grows  and  flowers  bloom,  from 
nature's  truth.  After  a  while  Mary  remarked,  — 

••  \Ve  are  comin'  to  huskin'  in  two  weeks,  Aunt 
Betsey." 

"  Be  you  ?  "  she  asked,  her  lips  aquiver ;  for  though 
it  was  the  continuance  of  a  yearly  custom,  yet  it  was 
ever  new. 

"  Yes/'  said  Lavina ;  "  an'  goin'  to  have  fun  an'  fun. 
Our  corn  will  be  husked  an'  carried  up-stairs  in  sixty 
minutes  ;  an'  after  supper  it's  blindman's  buff,  button- 


152  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

button,  hide-and-seek  out  of  doors,- — the  harvest  moon 
fulls  then,  —  an'  oh,  everything." 

It  was  so  year  by  year;  as  the  farmers  around  gath- 
ered their  crops  and  dressed  their  meat,  they  carried 
a  part  to  her.  Their  corn  fattened  her  pig  in  its 
field  sty ;  their  hay  filled  her  log  barn,  and  kept  her 
cow ;  part  of  all  they  raised  was  hers. 

She  and  Ruth  blessed  the  neighborhood  with  their 
beautiful  lives,  and  it  made  return  from  its  material 
fulness. 

At  no  other  time  than  this  husking  did  the  vicinage 
appear  bodily ;  but  on  a  fixed  day  each  autumn  small 
wagon-loads  of  unhusked  corn  arrived,  attended  by 
families  bringing  also  a  substantial  supper,  and,  as 
Lavina  said,  fun. 

They  drifted  to  other  themes ;  and  the  long  afternoon 
sped  rapidly  with  maidenly  story,  laughter,  and  harm- 
less gossip,  till  the  three  girls  went  home  in  the  sunlit 
eve,  themselves  the  rosiest  and  the  fairest  objects  of 
that  peaceful  scene. 


CHAPTER   XV 

ALONG    BY    THE    POND 

MRS.  LANE  and  John  came  out  of  the  schoolhouse 
just  in  season  to  see  Phil's  proffer  of  escort,  its  refusal, 
and  Mr.  Wilson's  scowl  at  the  incident.  He  could  not 


Journeying  to  Camp-Meeting  153 

see  'Lisbeth ;  but  he  could  make  a  little  diversion  in  his 
own  life,  so  when  they  reached  home  he  said,  — 

"  Aunt  Nancy,  I  guess  I'll  throw  Brownie's  saddle  on 
and  trot  over  to  Alexandria  camp-meeting  to-morrow." 

Brownie  was  a  freedom  gift  from  his  aunt  and  uncle, 
a  pretty  bay  horse,  which  followed  him  like  a  dog,  and 
on  whose  back  he  cantered  over  the  hills  whenever  he 
had  a  spare  hour. 

"  Well,  now  I  would,  John,"  she  replied.  "  Loizy  and 
I  will  fix  up  a  nice  bite  for  your  nooning,  nutcakes  and 
so  on ;  I  would  go  if  I  was  you." 

He  went  down  the  road  at  early  morning  while  yet  a 
breath  of  the  north  underlay  the  balmy  atmosphere.  A 
soft  light  serenely  covered  the  landscape,  and  the  east 
was  purple  and  golden  with  gorgeous  sunrise  tones. 

Nothing  but  the  dog  and  Mr.  Tyrrell  at  the  big  farm- 
house, only  geese  flapping  and  squawking  by  the  water- 
ing-trough at  the  Kings',  and  the  morning  song  of  birds 
broke  the  general  repose  as  he  rode  along  till  he  was 
over  the  brow  of  Brainard  Hill,  steep  and  pebbly  to  its 
last  curve  into  the  turnpike,  along  which,  beside  the 
pond,  a  few  early  teams  were  lumbering  at  long  in- 
tervals. 

In  an  angle  between  the  pike  and  hill  road  stood  an 
old  black  smithy,  its  enormous  iron-clamped  blinds 
thrown  clear  back,  opening  half  the  gable  end.  Within, 
the  bellows  wheezed,  the  flames  darted  and  writhed,  the 
sparks  flew,  and  the  great  smith,  six  feet  four  inches 


154  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

high,  loomed  beside  the  fiery  anvil,  swung  his  corded 
arms,  bare  to  the  shoulders,  lifting  a  ponderous  hammer 
above  his  head,  and  bringing  it  down  on  a  clanking 
white-hot  staple. 

The  shop  yard  was  littered  with  broken  wheels,  tires, 
axles,  yokes,  bars,  and  so  on,  among  which  a  pair  of 
oxen  dreamily  chewed  their  cuds,  while  their  owner  sat 
on  a  cart-tongue  eating  apples,  and  firing  expletives, 
such  as  "  Jee-hors-iphat,  Mighty  Spikes,  Great  Dagon  !  " 
at  the  unheeding  Cyclops  in  his  cave. 

"  Say,  mister,"  said  the*  stranger  to  John,  who  trotted 
up  to  leave  a  letter  for  the  morning's  stage,  "  say,  is  that 
the  kind  of  critter  raised  in  these  parts  ?  Buster,  ain't 
he  ?  Look  at  them  arms,  an'  see  my  ring  jump  !  I  dew 
snum,  I  b'leve  he'll  pound  it  all  tew  flinders." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  the  blackmith  flung  his  ham- 
mer down  as  one  tosses  a  plaything  aside,  fastened  the 
ringbolt  into  the  yoke,  which  he  picked  up  with  one 
hand,  carried  it  outside,  and  laid  it  across  a  barrel  of 
water,  ring  downward,  to  cool  it,  spoke  a  pleasant  good- 
morning  to  John,  took  a  sixpence  for  the  work,  then 
strode  towards  his  house,  which  stood  close  by.  The 
teamster  kept  his  eye  on  the  blacksmith,  while  John 
turned  his  horse  toward  the  turnpike. 

"  By  George !  I  was  a  good  mind  tew  crawl  up  on 
my  load  this  morning  when  the  bellers  boy  fetched  him 
out.  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  fire  an  i'on  bar  at  me 
for  callin'  him  up  so  airly." 


Journeying  to  Camp-Meeting  155 

"  He  is  one  of  the  kindest  and  most  peaceable  men 
in  the  world,"  said  John.  "  I  hope  your  team  will  go 
along  all  right.  Good-day." 

"  Good-day.     I'm  glad  I  see  him." 

John  was  halfway  from  Brainard's  famous  smithy 
to  Hoyt's  tavern  when  the  great  red  six-horse  stage 
from  Haverhill  thundered  past  him,  heaving  and  sway- 
ing, snapping  and  cracking,  through  clouds  of  dust. 
The  uneasy  stack  of  trunks  behind  lurched  and  jerked 
at  the  straps.  Small  trunks  and  bandboxes  upon  the 
stage  jumped  toward  the  sides  and  into  the  centre ;  what 
kept  them  on  no  mortal  could  make  out,  unless  each 
piece  of  baggage  at  the  start  made  definite  contract  with 
the  driver  to  be  found  in  its  lot  and  place  at  the 
journey's  end,  and,  like  the  men  and  women  of  that 
country,  kept  its  word  as  if  it  were  a  bond. 

The  horses  pricked  up  their  ears,  stretched  their 
traces,  and  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  familiar  tavern 
barn,  for  them  a  veritable  wicket-gate  where  their  bur- 
dens would  fall  off;  and  passengers  limbered  their  stiff- 
ened joints,  preparing  to  unload  at  Hoyt's,  where  they 
would  breakfast  and  change  horses. 

A  little  farther  along  the  old  signboard  squeaked  a 
piercing  welcome  as  Harden  lifted  the  stage-horn  from 
beside  the  driver's  seat,    and  woke  the  echoes  with  its  _ 
clear  and  happy  call. 

It  was  a  merry  good-morning,  and  rugged  heights 
returned  the  hail,  while,  answering  from  westward,  the 


156  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

woody  Point  sent  half  a  mile  across  ISTewfound's  softly 
lapping  waters  a  whispered  benison  upon  him  who 
through  the  moonless  watches  of  the  night  had  brought 
his  precious  freight  of  life  in  safety. 

Riding  by  the  tavern,  John  saw  the  travellers  dis- 
mounting with  pleasant  good-mornings  to  the  landlord. 
The  Concord  coach  was  already  unloaded  and  out  by  the 
watering-trough  being  washed  and  its  huge  axles  oiled 
for  its  northward  journey. 

After  passing  the  inn,  he  rode  slowly  along  by  the 
pond,  keeping  its  foot-road  through  an*  atmosphere  fra- 
grant with  harvest  scents. 

Once  in  a  while  a  fiery  twig  of  sumach,  or  dash  of 
clear  vermilion  on  a  maple  leaf,  heralded  the  coming 
splendor  of  shrub  and  tree.  Here  and  there  those  bril- 
liant bannerets  disclosed  how  closely  autumn  had  ad- 
vanced her  pickets,  how  near  her  gorgeous  army  pressed. 

Birds  had  finished  their  matins,  and,  fresh  from  baths 
in  pond  and  rivulet,  pruned  their  feathers,  then  darted 
off,  flaunting  red  caps  or  breasts,  or  yellow  coats  among 
sobef  black  and  gray.  Beautiful  blue  gentian  peeped 
from  beside  old  logs,  and  snuggled  in  warm  nooks  at 
the  foot  of  trees.  Wild  asters  and  goldenrod  hung  ad- 
miringly over  the  musical  rills ;  red  globes  of  dog- 
wood lightened  the  forest  below  the  tavern  far  into 
its  depths.  The  trilling  birds  and  beautiful  quietude 
soothed  young  May  hew ;  still  he  was  forlorn  enough, 
and  unhappy. 


Journeying  to  Camp-Meeting  157 

After  a  while  the  restfulness  of  the  pike  was  broken, 
and  it  became  alive  with  teams  of  every  description. 
Light  ones  flew  along,  heavy  ones  droned ;  but  it  made 
no  difference  to  him :  he  felt  alone,  bereaved,  unjustly 
dealt  by,  as  though  God  himself  were  afar  off,  and  heed- 
less of  him. 

Troughs  full  of  running  water  set  at  short  distances 
from  one  another,  being  filled  from  mossy  spouts, 
which  brought  to  them  the  outflow  of  ledge-hidden 
springs.  Men  caught  the  water  in  pewter  mugs,  or 
cups  made  of  large  leaves,  held  under  the  spout-stream ; 
horses  and  cattle  thrust  their  noses  deep  into  the 
tanks. 

At  those  refreshing  stations  men  spoke  freely  to- 
gether, inquired  after  each  other's  health,  pursuit,  des- 
tination ;  and,  according  to  the  custom  of  Yankees, 
they  thriftily  swapped  all  manner  of  gear,  from  jack- 
knives  to  horses,  as  they  could  "light  on  chaps,"  or 
traded  from  one  load  to  another. 

All  people  journeying  along  the  road  greeted  as  they 
passed  or  met,  saying  at  least,  "  Good-morning,  sir," 
or  "A  pleasant  day,  sir."  He  who  did  not  do  so  was 
deemed  a  churl,  no  matter  what  his  style  or  equipage. 
AVhile  Brownie  drank  at  a  trough  in  the  forest,  where 
the  water  gurgled  down  from  a  steep  hillside,  a  man 
on  horseback  galloped  up.  His  dress  showed  his  call- 
ing ;  for  he  was  a  circuit-rider,  who  glanced  full  at  John 
as  he  reined  his  horse  away,  and  seeing  his  troubled 
face  saluted  him  thus,  — 


158  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  The  Lord  be  with  thee,  brother." 

Mayhew  courteously  returned  the  salutation  with  a 
bow,  but  made  no  effort  to  ride  along  with  him,  though 
both  were  doubtless  going  to  the  same  place.  He  loi- 
tered onward  over  the  sandy,  rolling  pike  to  Bristol,  and 
climbed  a  high  hill  leading  from  thence  to  the  camp- 
ground; so  it  was  quite  nine  o'clock  when  he  arrived 
at  the  entrance  to  the  place  of  tabernacles,  which  was 
made  by  pulling  down  several  lengths  of  fence.  For 
rods  each  way  from  the  rustic  opening  horses  were 
hitched,  saddles  thrown  down,  and  wagons  drawn  to 
the  roadside.  One  wagon,  on  chain  springs,  lumbered 
along  before  him,  its  decorated  sides  divided  into  un- 
even red  panels  by  narrowish  stripes  of  brown.  A  tall 
white  hat  and  a  big  calash  appeared  above  the  high- 
backed  seat. 

Three  children,  of  ten  years  old  and  under,  were 
stowed  into  the  picturesque  carriage  in  front,  their 
tow-heads  dancing  in  and  out  of  sight  as  they  jolted 
over  rough  places;  and  two  large  boys  occupied  the 
hind  part,  steadying  themselves  by  its  edge.  Wide- 
brimmed  straw  hats  covered  their  brown  heads,  long 
red  wrists  pulled  out  of  their  gray  homemade  sleeves. 
They  were  chewing  spruce  gum,  and  taking  in  every 
new  thing  their  bright  eyes  fell  upon. 

Wagons  were  scattered  through  the  woods  wherever 
an  owner  had  found  sufficient  room  for  one  ;  and  chaises, 
resembling  enormous  baby-carriages,  had  crept  into 
lesser  spaces. 


Journeying  to  Camp-Meeting  159 

Farther  into  the  forest  a  large  number  of  horses  were 
tied,  munching  grain,  and  whisking  their  long  tails  at 
the  persistent  September  flies. 

There  young  Mayhew  drew  the  saddle  and  bridle 
from  his  horse,  tethered  it  to  a  strong  sapling,  scat- 
tered a  bundle  of  fresh  hay  which  he  had  bought  of 
a  vender,  at  its  feet,  then  turned  back  into  the  wood- 
road,  which  ran  some  distance  through  the  heavy  growth 
of  trees,  ending  at  the  centre  of  the  camp-ground. 
There  it  branched,  and  ran  in  opposite  curves  before  a 
crescent  of  tents. 

Contented  groups  and  pairs,  clothed  in  Sunday  dress 
and  manners,  strolled  through  those  calm  coverts,  or 
threaded  in  and  out  among  the  dusky  tree-trunks. 

A  little  tow-headed  girl  carefully  guided  an  aged 
grandsire  towards  the  seats,  among  stones  and  roots, 
which  his  failing  eyes  could  not  discern. 

Close  by,  a  youthful  couple  sat  upon  a  rock  re- 
freshing themselves  after  a  long  journey  with  dough- 
nuts and  baked  sweet  apples,  and  watched  a  child,  who 
climbed  over  knotted  roots  and  shared  their  meal. 

One  boy  came  along,  then  another  and  another,  as 
the  manner  of  boys  is,  till  several  gathered  on  mossy 
stones  or  rugged  logs  of  fallen  trees,  while  each  one  re- 
counted how  many  woodchuck  skins,  caught  by  his 
prowess  with  dog  or  trap,  skinned  with  his  jack-knife, 
stretched  and  nailed  to  his  father's  barn  with  his 
bruised  fingers/^awaited  the  barter  or  cash  trade  of  a 


160  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

coming  muster.  A  pretty  girl  leaned  against  a  tree 
innocently  aggravating  a  distressed,  awkward  young 
man  who  wished  to  be  her  true  love,  and,  like  his 
kind,  made  himself  ridiculous,  blushing  and  twisting 
his  red  hands  in  utter  bewilderment. 

Apart  among  the  trees  walked  a  pair  of  lovers  hand 
in  hand,  a  sweet  picture.  He  was  tall  and  sinewy, 
bearing  an  honest  manliness  and  deferent  courtesy  to- 
ward the  girl,  goodly  to  see.  His  suit  of  homespun 
was  new,  and  neatly  fashioned. 

Her  trim  figure  was  shorter  by  a  head.  Blue  eyed 
and  rosy  fair  she  was  in  her  pink  bonnet  and  blue 
linen  dress,  —  spun,  woven,  and  colored,  cut,  basted, 
and  made  by  its  winsome  wearer.  She  wore  a  string 
of  gold  beads  around  her  neck,  and  the  silk  bag  hang- 
ing from  one  firm  arm  was  embroidered  with  beads  by 
her  grandmother. 

All  were  hushed  and  orderly,  feeling  the  presence 
of  Him  whom  they  came  to  worship,  for  they  threaded 
aisles  His  own  hand  builded  to  the  temple  Himself  had 
reared. 

Slowly  passing  through  the  gently  moving  scene,  he 
heard  dreamlike  melody  from  singing  worshippers  who 
were  holding  morning  prayer-meetings  in  the  tents.  It 
quivered  up  through  the  trees  with  voices  of  shouting 
also,  dulled  into  harmony  by  distance  and  muffling 
leaves,  and  high  above  all  murmured  a  mellow  wind 
in  the  tops  of  the  trees,  —  a  faint  and  far-off  orchestra. 


Journeying  to  Camp-Meeting  161 

Nothing  broke  in  upon  the  brooding  peace,  save  the 
chirp  of  a  robin,  or  whirr  of  olive-shaded  crossbill  fly- 
ing to  some  late  grainfield,  or  coo  of  glittering  doves 
going  to  luncheon  behind  board  kitchens,  or  beside  the 
crotched  sticks  and  wooden  cranes  where  food  was 
prepared  in  the  rear  of  each  white  tent. 

He  leaned  against  a  gray  tree-trunk,  and  listened  to 
sounds  heard  dimly  from  the  little  white  village,  scanned 
the  throng  pressing  toward  it,  and  enjoyed  the  charm- 
ing dramas  enacted  by  pretty  groups  around  him,  then 
stepped  quite  to  the  leaf-girt  amphitheatre,  where  he 
paused  and  looked  down  its  easy  slope.  It  was  clear 
of  trees,  except  enough  for  shade,  and  filled  partway 
with  plank  seats  fronting  a  central  object,  the  "  speak- 
ers' stand."  This  was  an  oblong  structure  two  stories 
high ;  the  lower  one  closed  and  fitted  up  for  preachers' 
domitories,  the  second  one  open  towards  the  camp,  and 
used  for  a  pulpit.  A  wooden  bench  ran  its  whole 
length  of  twenty  feet.  It  was  called  the  "  preachers' 
seat ; "  and  its  roof  sloped  sufficiently  to  shed  rain. 

That  building  was  central  in  a  semicircle  whose 
finished  curve  was  formed  on  either  hand  by  rows  of 
small  white  tents,  purchased  by  neighborhood  contribu- 
tions; and  their  inmates  were  the  owners,  augmented 
in  number  by  one  or  two  favorite  ministers,  or  near 
friends,  and  numbering,  all  told,  from  six  to  three  times 
that  in  each  tent. 


162  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTEE   XVI 

CAMP-MEETING 

SHORT  prayer  and  experience  meetings  proceeded  the 
afternoon  discourse  preached  by  Father  Benson  to  some 
young  men  who  desired  to  enter  the  ministry ;  and  as 
the  last  sound  of  the  bell,  fastened  high  up  on  a  tree- 
trunk,  and  rung  by  the  presiding  elder,  died  away,  he 
ascended  the  rickety  stairs  and  moved  slowly  to  his 
place  midway  the  long  bench.  The  last  faint  whis- 
perings of  the  great  audience  were  hushed  before  he 
opened  services  by  reading  one  of  John  Wesley's  battle 

hymns  :  — 

"Arm  me  with  thy  whole  armor,  Lord; 
Uphold  my  weakness  with  thy  might; 
Gird  on  my  thigh  thy  conquering  sword, 
And  shield  me  in  the  dreadful  fight." 

During  remaining  introductory  exercises  he  sat  mo- 
tionless, with  folded  hands,  scanning  the  solicitous 
young  men  presented  as  candidates  for  the  ministry. 

His  message  was  primarily  to  those  solemn  and  awed 
persons  who  sat  by  themselves  on  the  front  bench ;  and 
after  he  slowly  rose  to  deliver  it,  he  paused  before  re- 
peating the  text,  "  Can  ye  be  baptized  with  the  baptism 
that  I  am  baptized  with  ?  "  Another  pause.  He  was 
plainly  burdened  by  the  weight  of  the  tremendous  chal- 


Camp-Meeting  163 

lenge.  Then,  after  the  manner  of  one  sent  to  demand 
response  to  an  awful  question,  he  repeated  it,  his  voice 
swelling  and  ringing  clear  and  dulcet  to  rear  seats  far 
up  the  slope.  It  struck  the  ears  of  stragglers  leaning 
.against  birches  beyond  the  outmost  benches ;  it  thrilled 
and  quivered  into  the  very  souls  of  the  listeners. 

One  must  be  instructed  and  prepared  for  such  bap- 
tism, he  told  them ;  the  Spirit  was  a  constant  instructor, 
revealing,  endowing,  supporting,  else  how  could  one  en- 
dure such  baptism  ?  for  what  was  it  ? 

In  the  first  place  and  ever  it  was  one  of  service  that 
brought  strength  to  weakness,  courage  to  the  cowardly, 
hope  to  the  despairing,  songs  to  the  desolate,  cold  water 
to  His  little  ones,  opened  the  King's  gates  to  returning 
wanderers,  and  drew  the  outcast  near,  so  his  defiled 
hands  could  touch  the  hem  of  the  Master's  healing 
garments. 

It  was  a  baptism  of  temptation,  —  when  honor  and 
riches  and  lofty  estate  were  offered  for  faith;  when 
earthly  love  blinded  one's  sight  to  eternal  truth  and 
heavenly  visions;  when  human  affection  failed,  and 
friends  forsook  and  fled ;  when  the  wine  of  life  was 
drained  to  its  lees  by  deceitful  and  alien  lips. 

It  was  one  of  poverty,  when  tilled  field  and  flying 
loom  refused  their  wealth,  and  of  obedience  when  divine 
law  traversed  one's  dearest  hopes,  and  of  bereavement 
when  blossoms  of  promise  were  strewn  dead  at  one's 
feet.  Yet  most  difficult  of  all  was  the  final  baptism  of 
love. 


164  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Can  ye,"  said  he,  "  go  with  him  down  into  those 
waters  where  love  loses  itself  in  blessing  others  ?  for  so 
only  can  ye  follow  the  Incarnate  Love. 

"  Thus  saith  the  Son  of  Mary,  '  Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul, 
and  with  all  thy  mind.  This  is  the  first  and  great  com- 
mandment ;  and  the  second  is  like  unto  it,  Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.  On  these  two  command- 
ments hang  all  the  law  and  the  prophets.' 

"  0  beloved,  this  is  most  trying,  —  this  generous,  for- 
giving spirit  toward  the  erring,  sinful,  and  grovelling ; 
toward  the  bigoted,  self-righteous,  and  unbelieving,  and 
particularly  in  respect  to  those  who  stint  and  measure 
the  abounding  fulness  of  God's  pitying  favor,  binding 
with  cords  of  human  dogma  the  free  course  of  his  saving 
grace,  making  the  word  of  God  of  none  effect  by  their 
tradition,  while  the  world  groans  on,  waiting  for  unity 
and  Christly  charity  among  them  who  bear  his  blessed 
name. 

"  Your  Great  Exemplar  demands  a  life  fashioned  after 
his  own,  according  to  this  perfect  law.  If  so  be  that  ye 
are  buried  with  him  in  baptism,  then  must  ye  love 
every  living  soul  even  as  himself  loved  you,  not  a  whit 
less,  but  so,  as  far  as  humanity  can  copy  the  divine. 

"  Are  ye  equal  to  these  things  ?  Towards  Magdalen 
and  Pharisee  can  ye  exemplify  such  exceeding  love  ? 
Can  ye  sink  into  the  wondrous  sea  of  God's  change- 
less grace,  and  rise  unto  his  life  ? 


Camp-Meeting  165 

"  Can  ye  be  buried  in  the  whelming  deeps  wherein  the 
unseemly  idols  of  your  souls  are  drowned  ?  Can  ye 
follow  him  down  into  the  awful  gulfs  of  misery,  want, 
and  despair,  forgetful  of  self,  so  ye  may  bring  the 
vilest  leper  of  the  race  to  the  gracious  Healer  ?  Can 
ye  walk  meek  and  blameless  through  shame  and  con- 
tempt, and  forgive  deceiver  and  ingrate  ? 

"  Then,  though  he  lead  through  the  fire,  its  flame  shall 
leave  your  souls  white  and  heavenly  tempered.  Great 
floods  shall  lift  up  their  voices  on  every  side,  and 
wrecking  billows  howl  and  roar  all  the  angry  night; 
but,  lo !  in  the  morning  your  spotless  raiment  shall 
shine  as  the  light,  and  your  feet,  which  were  bruised 
and  torn,  shall  lose  their  pitiful  scars  beneath  the  heal- 
ing breath  of  that  sacred  air ;  for  then  shall  ye  be 
inhabitants  of  the  blessed  country  where  they  never, 
never  more  say,  '  I  am  sick,'  where  '  there  is  no  more 
death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  any  crying.'  " 

No  abstract  of  that  hour's  sublime  ministry  could 
faithfully  record  it.  None  could  describe  the  stately 
diction  of  the  exordium,  nor  the  argument  by  which 
the  vital  truth  of  faith  was  upheld,  nor  the  prophetic 
power  of  the  peroration.  One  deemed  he  already  trod 
with  triumphant  foot  upon  all  opposing  forces,  and 
stood  at  the  gateway  of  the  skies,  victor  over  himself, 
the  world,  and  Satan. 

Bunches  of  southernwood  fell  from  loosened  fingers, 
and  late  asters  dropped  from  unthinking  maidens' 


166  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

hands.  Tears  were  falling  from  many  eyes ;  on  other 
faces  a  supreme  peace  had  set  its  mystic  seal. 

On  seats  nearest  the  speaker's  stand  a  number  of 
men  and  women  swayed  from  side  to  side,  or  knelt 
on  the  ground,  clapping  their  hands  in  ecstasy  and 
shouting,  the  women  faintly,  dreamily,  the  men,  in 
part,  making  great  noise  and  confusion. 

When  the  sermon  ended  a  few  passed  to  and  fro, 
speaking  to  one  and  another  on  whom  the  power  had 
fallen. 

One  man  paced  up  and  down  the  central  aisle,  his 
lips  moving  without  sound,  gently  smiting  his  palms 
meanwhile. 

Two  met  in  a  clear  space  front  of  the  benches,  each 
gazed  silently  at  his  brother  for  a  few  seconds,  then 
both  burst  into  tears,  threw  their  arms  around  each 
other's  neck,  and  with  a  united  shout  of  "  glory  "  woke 
the  slumbering  echoes  of  the  hill.  One  or  two  women 
were  carried  to  a  tent  near  by,  and  the  presiding  elder 
rose  and  read  a  hynm.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  well 
equipped  mentally,  and  a  man  of  much  executive  abil- 
ity. The  sermon  had  exalted  him ;  still,  he  did  not 
give,  nor  believed  he  could  ever  yield,  assent  to  such 
stormy,  and  to  his  mind  half  mortifying  exhibitions  of 
religious  fervor  as  he  had  witnessed. 

In  his  soul  was  a  blessed  sense  that  he  had  risen 
on  a  mighty  flood  of  assurance,  yet  there  was  no  dis- 
position to  voice  .even  the  faintest  amen.  He  wished 


Camp-Meeting  167 

the  clamor  would  cease,  and  a  benignant  silence  come, 
stillness  that  might  be  felt,  so  that  he  might  quietly 
take  those  truths  to  his  soul ;  yet  in  him  was  no  knowl- 
edge of  denying  to  any  the  freedom  of  worship  which 
he  claimed  as  the  right  of  rights  to  every  one,  no 
matter  of  what  creed. 

He  was  thankful  when  the  hymn  hushed  the  shout- 
ing, and  for  the  quiet  that  rested  over  all  during  the 
consecration  of  the  sacred  elements,  for  the  Holy  Sacra- 
ment of  the  Lord's  Supper  immediately  followed. 

During  its  progress,  as  he  walked  along  between  the 
rows  of  seats,  breaking  the  consecrated  bread  to  wor- 
shippers kneeling  on  the  leaf-strown  ground,  suddenly 
a  marble  paleness  came  over  his  tired  features,  his 
frame  trembled  as  if  to  falling,  he  paused  and  handed 
the  blessed  emblems  to  Father  Benson,  leaned  against 
an  oak  trunk  that  grew  close  by,  clasped  his  hands, 
and  gazed  intently  upward.  Every  trace  of  weariness 
departed  from  that  eager  visage,  and  through  its  kin- 
dled whiteness  shown  an  ardor  so  regnant,  so  impera- 
tive, as  to  awe  scores  of  people  who  waited  beside  the 
altar. 

ISTo  sound  broke  the  heavenly  composure  of  the  camp- 
ground, save  the  subdued  foot-falls  of  God's  ministers 
on  their  priestly  errands,  and  no  syllable  parted  those 
questioning  lips ;  no  sign  flitted  over  that  rapt  counte- 
nance, nor  did  any  token  fall  from  those  wondering 
eyes. 


168  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

They,  standing  by,  beheld,  but  could  not  decipher  its 
glorious  characters. 

What  mighty  pageant  moved  before  him  in  the  sap- 
phire depths  of  the  arching  sky  none  ever  knew.  What 
armies  of  the  living  God  wheeled  and  circled  in  mid 
air,  rank  on  rank,  to  the  rhythm  and  beat  of  supernal 
music ;  what  heavenly  battalions,  marching  with  high 
assent  to  celestial  orders,  separated  from  the  shining 
soldiery  and  flew  to  the  rescue  of  sorely  beleaguered 
camps,  where  footsore  and  discouraged  armies  of  the 
church  militant  struck  feebly  at  the  foe ;  what  ensigns 
floated  free  and  glittering  white,  save  for  the  central 
blood-red  cross  ;  what  guidons  led  —  of  all  those  things 
he  uttered  no  word. 

Did  he  behold  angelic  messengers  cleaving  with  lus- 
trous wings  the  upper  air  and  passing  to  and  fro  —  these 
on  downward  pinion  bent,  swiftly  responding  to  the  cry 
of  the  suffering  and  desolate,  making  straight  paths  to 
the  Great  King's  little  ones  of  every  land  and  tongue ; 
and  those  on  upward  wing  returning  from  the  four  quar- 
ters of  the  earth,  the  light  of  the  eternal  sun  flushing 
each  joyous  visage  as  they  proclaimed  the  conquests  of 
the  cross,  and  the  growing  empire  of  eternal  love ;  or 
convoyed  loyal  souls,  who  through  grace  had  conquered 
death,  and  whose  adoring  eyes  looked  for  the  first  time 
on  him  who  had  loved  them  ? 

Did  he  see  behind  them  throng  the  great  multitude 
"which  no  man  can  number,"  the  church  triumphant, 


Camp-Meeting  169 

which  is  without  spot  before  the  throne ;  or  gaze  on  the 
saintly  throng  of  those  who  had  "  come  up  out  of  great 
tribulation,  clad  in  garments  of  righteousness,  white  as 
no  fuller  on  earth  could  whiten  them  "  ?  Did  he  listen 
to  supernal  choirs,  full  chorussed,  crying,  "  Blessing, 
and  honor,  and  glory,  and  power,  be  unto  him  that  sit- 
teth  upon  the  throne,  and  unto  the  Lamb  forever,"  and 
the  harpers,  harping  and  singing  "  as  it  were  a  new  song 
before  the  throne ;  "  or  did  he  discern  but  one  form  and 
countenance,  Him  of  Nazareth,  his  pitying,  loving  Lord. 

To  his  dying  day  he  never  revealed  ought  concerning 
it  to  his  dearest  friend,  or  the  wife  of  his  faithful  heart. 

After  some  time  the  color  returned  to  his  face,  his 
eyes  fell,  and  he  knelt  until  Father  Benson  spoke  the 
words  of  dismissal,  "  Go  in  peace ; "  then  he  rose  and  re- 
sumed his  place,  not  indeed  as  if  no  strange  thing  had 
happened,  but  with  great  humility,  an  exalted  tender- 
ness of  speech,  and  gracious  deference  that  never  left 
him  to  his  life's  end. 

When  the  long  sacramental  ceremony  ended,  the  audi- 
ence silently  melted  away,  going  either  to  tents  or  to 
prepare  for  long  homeward  journeys. 

Many  a  time  during  service,  Father  Benson  had 
glanced  towards  a  tree  just  beyond  the  altar  benches  and 
the  young  man  seated  at  its  root.  Thither  he  immedi- 
ately made  his  way,  and  clasped  John's  outstretched 
hand. 

He  perceived  sure  signals  of  conflict ;  and  after  some 


170  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

little  while  spent  in  discussing  the  events  of  the  after- 
noon, he  said,  "  Come  with  me."  John  accompanied  the 
gray-haired  man,  whom  the  general  voice  of  the  circuit 
had  named  Father  Benson,  past  tents  around  and  in 
which  groups  of  men  talked  over  the  peculiar  happen- 
ings of  the  afternoon  service,  and  women  were  laying 
the  long  board  tables  for  supper,  out  behind  the  white 
tabernacles,  by  more  women  who  were  busy  preparing 
the  meal  over  fires  kindled  on  the  ground  between  two 
upright  crotched  sticks  that  held  crane  and  pot-hooks  ; 
they  went  far  into  the  woody  depths  beyond  any  noise 
of  camp-ground  or  stray  campers,  and  sat  for  a  long  time 
on  a  mossy  stone,  reasoning  together. 

Finally  they  parted,  and  John  Mayhew  passed  from 
out  the  shadowy  coolness,  equipped  his  horse,  threw 
himself  into  the  saddle,  and  rode  into  the  strong  sun- 
beams, then  level  with  his  eyes.  He  drew  his  hat 
down,  loosed  the  bridle-rein,  and  allowed  the  beautiful 
bay  to  take  the  road  at  its  own  gait,  while  he  knit  his 
forehead  and  bent  his  energy  and  conscience  to  the 
future.  There  was  no  dodging  nor  flinching  about  it. 
What  was  his  should  come  at  last,  he  told  himself. 
How  ?  That  was  not  plain  ;  but  the  fire  on  his  hearth- 
stone should  be  kindled  by  Thomas  Wilson's  daughter, 
or  never  rise  therefrom.  He  could  wait  for  her  if  he 
must,  even  till  day  was  done. 

To  say  he  willingly  came  to  that  conclusion  would  be 
untrue.  He  bore  a  man's  deep,  silent  pain,  none  the  less 


Camp-Meeting  171 

bitter  because  unvoiced,  and  he  would  have  evaded  it  if 
he  could. 

For  the  present  he  must  go  away,  and  he  would  talk 
to  Squire  Baker  about  it  as  soon  as  he  returned  to  the 
office.  When  he  came  to  Brainard  Hill,  the  old  black- 
smithy  had  lost  every  spark.  He  looked  up  the  heights 
silvered  by  the  setting  moon,  and  turned  his  impatient 
horse  up  their  rugged  steeps.  Shadows  slanted  long  as 
his  steed  toiled  upward;  crickets  chirruped  strident 
salutes  from  the  grass,  and  lonesome  owls  hooted  and 
napped  away  within  the  thick  woods  below  the  King's ; 
but  all  of  mankind  seemed  lost  or  gone,  not  even  one 
of  the  King's  dogs  barked. 

Two  hours  after  'Lisbeth  returned  from  Widow  Wil- 
lard's  his  horse  clicked  along  the  stony  road  by  Mr. 
Wilson's ;  but  its  rider  could  not  see  through  the  dark- 
ness where  she  from  her  window  discerned  him  as  he 
passed  and  blessed  him. 

Mrs.  Lane  sat  up  for  him,  the  teakettle  singing  near 
her,  and  made  a  pot  of  coffee  when  she  heard  the 
horse's  hoofs  upon  the  ledge.  As  she  sipped  a  cup  with 
him,  while  he  recounted  the  notable  events  of  the 
camp-meeting,  she  was  glad  to  note  the  shadows  were 
fled  from  his  face. 


172  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MEETING    BETWEEN    THE    KING    AND    SQUIRE 

IN  the  glory  of  October  the  King  sauntered  up  to 
his  field-bars  in  a  brown  study.  Evidently  he  should- 
ered his  gun  and  whistled  up  the  dogs  that  morning 
more  to  allay  some  fret  than  to  hunt.  Putting  one 
foot  on  the  middle  rail,  he  made  ready  to  spring,  then 
stopped  and  gazed  toward  a  flaming  clump  of  scrub- 
oaks  growing  at  a  bend  of  the  road  above  him.  The 
dogs  raised  their  noses  from  a  mat  of  bright  leaves,  and 
thrust  their  ears  forward,  —  all  three  were  harking. 
Finally  a  tall  white  hat  appeared  in  and  out  among  the 
bushes,  a  horse  came  in  sight,  and  carefully  picked  its 
way  down  the  pebbly  hillock. 

The  King  completed  his  jump,  twisted  his  quid,  made 
a  lazy  nod,  and  settled  back,  gun  in  hand,  against  bar- 
post  and  wall. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  King." 

"  Mornin',  Square  Baker." 

"All  well  at  your  house  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     How  be  your  folks  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  squire,  lifting  a  rein. 

"  Hold  on,"  said  the  hunter ;  "  I  reckon  you  was  sorter 
sent,  for  I've  been  wantin'  tew  see  ye  pretty  bad." 


Meeting  Between  the  King  and  Squire        173 

The  King  stopped,  picked  up  the  gun  and  sighted  it, 
while  inquiring,  — 

"  How's  corn  comin'  in  your  way  ?  " 

«  Well." 

"  'Taters  ?  " 

"  An  excellent  crop." 

The  squire  presumed  the  hunter  had  trampled  a 
neighbor's  cornfield,  and  was  in  trouble;  but  he  was  in 
a  hurry,  and  again  shook  his  bridle-rein.  Quickly  the 
King  straightened  his  frame  and  poised  upright  by  his 
gun.  Xoting  the  change,  the  squire  kindly  asked,  — 

"  Are  you  in  trouble  with  anybody  ?  " 

"  No,  I  ain't.  'Tain't  nothin'  'bout  me,  anyways.  It 
consarns  them  as  b'longs  to  yerself.  You've  got  tew 
stop  this  ere  foolin'  of  Phil  Harmon's." 

Squire  Baker  was  perplexed,  and  half  resentful.  The 
King  paced  a  step  forward,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
bow  of  the  saddle. 

"  See  here,  Square,"  he  said,  "  you  think  I'm  per- 
soomin'.  They  say  you  can  look  a  man  clear  through. 
Now  sight  me  —  stiddy.  See  a  mean  or  sneakin'  spot  ?  " 

The  old  man's  lip  quivered  slightly  during  the  in- 
spection he  invited. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "p'r'aps  I'd  better  speak  how  'tis 
'tween  us  and  'Lisbeth.  Ye  see,  our  Lucy'd  been  ailin' 
three  weeks,  —  'twas  five  year  ago  or  sech  a  matter,  — 
an'  one  day  the  doctor  says,  says  he, (  Your  gal  is  terrible 
sick,  an'  you  an'  Mis'  King  are  all  wore  out ;  send  for 


174  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

'Lisbeth.'  I  looked  at  mother,  an'  she  tew  me  ;  but  the 
doctor  spoke  up  agin.  Says  he,  '  'Lisbeth  is  'sponsible 
'nuff  for  a  woman  of  fifty."  So  she  come  'bout  dusk ; 
then  mother  an'  me  we  went  in  an'  out,  roun'  an'  roun' 
that  bed  till  long  past  midnight. 

"  Bime  by  our  little  gal  stopped  moanin',  an'  grew 
white  an'  still.  'Lisbeth  says  tew  us,  so  quiet  an'  pity- 
in',  '  She's  sleepin' ;  an'  the  doctor  said  on'y  I  must  stay 
if  she  slep'.  You  go  out,  an'  I'll  speak  the  minit  she 
Wakes  up.'  She  follered  us,  an'  pulled  a  shawl  'round 
mother  tender  like,  put  on  a  stick  of  wood,  an'  there  we 
set  one  on  each  side  of  our  fireplace,  years  an'  years 
'pears  tew  me,  till  finely,  jest  as  the  fust  streak  of  day 
crep'  behine  them  tree-tops  yender,  'Lisbeth  motioned  us 
tew  come ;  an'  our  little  gal  reely  knew  us,  an'  slep'  agin, 
an'  I  went  out  intew  the  barn.  When  the  doctor  come, 
he  say,  '  The  chile  is  good  fer  seventy  years  fur's  I 
know,  but  it's  'Lisbeth's  care  an'  jedgment ; '  them's  the 
words  he  spoke,  an'  I  went  out  intew  the  barn  agin,  an' " 
pulling  off  his  old  slouch  hat,  "  I  promised  Him  as  is 
above  us  all,  that  long  as  I  lived  no  sorrer  should  come 
tew  'Lisbeth  if  I  could  hender ;  I'd  stan'  'tween  her  an' 
it,  an'  I  will  —  yes,  sir,  I  will." 

The  squire  took  the  hard  hand  from  the  saddle-bow 
in  both  of  his. 

"  You'll  help  me,  Square  ?  "  then  with  strange  author- 
ity he  continued,  "  You've  got  tew  help  'Lisbeth." 

"  I  will  try." 


Meeting  Between  the  King  and  Squire       175 

"  Try  ?     That  won't  do,  Square ;  say  ye  will." 

"I  certainly  will.  Have  you  debated  this  matter 
with  Mr.  Wilson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have ;  we've  had  words  back  and  forth  — 
pretty  sharp  ones,  tew." 

"  Did  he  reply  ?  " 

"  I  reckon ;  tole  me  tew  mind  my  own  affairs." 

"  And  so  you  left  it." 

"  Not  by  a  long  shot !  I  telled  him  I  was  dewin'  so 
everlastin'ly,  an.'  sh'd  keep  right  on  up  hill  an'  down 
tendin'  tew  it ;  an'  if  the  scent  run  through  his  fields  or 
intew  his  dooryard  'twa'n't  my  fault." 

"  Thomas  is  a  very  set  man." 

"  I  guess  you've  struck  it ;  hit  that  nail  on  the  head, 
I'll  be  darned  if  you  hain't.  Sot !  yes,  it's  sotuess  ails 
him  mostly,  an'  same  thing  with  Phil." 

"  But  Mr.  Wilson  will  not  urge  " 

"  Now,  Square,  look  here,  he's  sot  on  it.  Now,  who's 
goin'  te\v  give  in  ?  —  anybody  but  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"  But,  Mr.  King,  he  will  yield  if  he  proves  to  be 
wrong." 

"  Prove  that  he,  Thomas  Wilson,  is  wrong  —  well,  I 
guess  so,  specially  when  its  'bout  'lection.  I  can't 
track  him.  I'd  ruther  foller  sheep-paths  through  roz- 
bry  bushes.  You'd  better  see,  Square,  if  'tairi't  foreordi- 
nated  she  shall  keep  her  word  stid  of  her  father  his'n. 
You've  promised." 
"  I  have." 


176  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Up  from  the  richly  colored  forest  below  them  rose  a 

song,  — 

"No  foot  of  land  do  I  possess, 
No  cottage  in  this  wilderness 

A  poor,  wayfaring  man, 
I  dwell  awhile  in  tents  below, 
And  gladly  wander  to  and  fro, 
Till  I  my  Canaan  gain." 

"  Father  Benson,"  said  the  squire,  plainly  gratified  at 
the  prospect  of  meeting  him. 

"Yes,  it's  him,  the  tenor  singer  as  Mr.  Wilson  calls 
him ;  he  won't  'low  he's  really  a  minister." 

As  they  spoke,  the  iron-gray  emerged  from  the  bright 
woods  and  cantered  towards  them.  The  King  asked 
Father  Benson  to  stop,  but  he  could  not ;  so  the  hunter 
left  the  two  men,  and  was  about  plunging  down  the 
bank  covered  with  checkerberry  when  he  drew  back 
exclaiming,  — 

"  Why,  'Lisbeth,  an'  little  Dorothy  tew.  How  be  ye  ? 
They'll  be  glad  tew  see  ye,"  jerking  his  thumb  back- 
ward ;  "  but  I  can't  stop  a  minit,  for  I  hear  a  patrige 
drummin'." 

Their  hands  were  full  of  mosses  and  medicinal  roots. 
Both  men  greeted  them  kindly,  and  their  uncle  said, 
"  Elizabeth "  (he  always  called  her  by  her  full  name), 
"  tell  your  mother  I  shall  be  over  Saturday,  and  carry 
you  home  for  a  few  days."  The  girls  started  homeward, 
while  the  gentlemen  talked  for  some  time  before  part- 
ing. When  Father  Benson  overtook  them  he  dis- 


Meeting  Between  the  King  and  Squire       177 

mounted,  lifted  Dorothy  into  the  saddle,  and  walked 
bridle  in  hand  to  the  Wilson  house,  his  heart  pained 
within  him  at  the  shadow  falling  over  the  girl  who 
travelled  beside  him  in  such  healthful  glow  of  youth. 

When  the  squire  was  carrying  'Lisbeth  to  the  village 
on  Saturday,  he  told  her  that  Mr.  Benson  had  found  a 
place  for  John  in  Mr.  Shaw's  office  in  Boston,  and  that 
he  would  go  early  in  November. 

"  I  thought  he  was  going  to  stay  with  you,  uncle  ?  " 

The  tremor  of  that  strained  voice  nearly  upset  him, 
and  he  gave  the  horse  such  a  vicious  thwack  as  sent  it 
cantering  down  poorhouse  hill;  then  he  kept  a  contin- 
uous talk  and  pulling  at  the  reins  till  the  astonished 
animal  drew  up  at  the  squire's  door. 

Mrs.  Baker  knew  what  her  husband  intended  to  say 
while  bringing  'Lisbeth  out,  so  she  spoke  quietly,  "  Are 
you  well,  Elizabeth  ?  Run  right  up  to  your  room  and 
take  your  things  off.  Lois  will  be  in  soon. " 

She  went  to  a  cosey,  white-curtained  chamber,  and  sank 
into  a  tall  rocker,  thankful  to  be  out  of  sight  and  alone. 
Years  after  she  remembered  exactly  how  evenly  the 
mats  were  sewed  and  braided,  and  how  smoothly  they 
were  spread  upon  the  yellow  floor ;  how  white  was  the 
tufted  linen  counterpane  between  the  copperplate  cur- 
tains of  the  high  bed ;  how  the  mirror  shone  with  its  tiny 
brass  sconces  on  either  side ;  how  burnished  were  the 
brass  handles  of  bureau  and  washstand ;  how  beautiful 
the  lustral  bowl  and  pitcher.  She  wept  bitterly  for  a 
few  moments,  then  bathed  her  face  and  descended. 


178  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Her  aunt  was  busy  at  fall  sewing,  and  a  seamstress 
was  helping  her.  The  woman  was  called  Mehitable 
Stone,  or  Hitty  for  short.  She  was  a  tall,  spare,  sharp- 
nosed  spinster  of  uncertain  age  and  certain  opinions, 
who  earned  ninepence  a  day,  enjoyed  herself,  and  car- 
ried all  the  news  from  house  to  house  with  her  reticule. 

Mrs.  Baker  knew  Kitty's  failings  and  limitations. 
She  also  understood  the  village  was  interested  in  'Lis- 
beth and  her  lover,  and  determined  no  tales  should  be 
carried  away  for  magpies  and  tabbies  to  chatter  and 
purr  over.  When  'Lisbeth  came  down  she  said,  "  Did 
you  bring  your  work  ?  " 

"No;  mother  wished  me  to  sew  for  you."  Seeing 
'Lisbeth  composed,  and  hoping  to  prevent  further  men- 
tion of  Mayhew,  she  said,  "  We  are  pretty  much  hurried 
by  our  own  work  ;  but  your  uncle  thinks,  and  so  do  I,  we 
ought  to  help  Mrs.  Lane  with  John's  things  —  makes  it 
bad  he  is  going  right  in  the  midst  of  fall  work  so. 
Hitty,  will  you  give  'Lisbeth  something  to  do  ?  " 

"  She  better  hem  a  piller-case  whilst  I  put  in  a  sleeve, 
'fore  cuttin'  work."  * 

"Well,  you'll  find  a  hank  of  fine  boughten  thread 
and  some  needles  and  wax  in  the  sewing-table  drawer, 
'Lisbeth.  Sit  right  down  by  the  window." 

Mrs.  Baker  went  out,  and  the  girl  found  herself  with 
only  a  table  between  herself  and  the  seamstress.  Hitty 
squinted  across  several  times  ;  but  the  silence  remained, 
except  for  a  quick  snapping  of  thread  and  regular  tick- 


Meeting  Between  the  King  and  Squire       179 

tock,  tick-tock  of  a  corner  clock  ;  but  she  thought  to 
herself  piecemeal,  — 

"  So  this  is  Thomas  Wilson's  daughter ;  well-lookin', 
that's  a  fact.  I  do  wonder  if  she  cares  for  him.  I'm 
goin'  tew  see."  Then  she  spoke,  — 

"  Have  you  got  the  white  wax  ?  My  thread's  a 
little  kinky." 

'Lisbeth  passed  the  wax  without  comment,  and  pretty 
soon  the  woman  questioned,  "Hain't  seen  my  thread, 
have  ye  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not." 

"  There  !  here  'tis  in  my  lap.  I  guess  Mis'  Bakerses 
hurry  flusters  us  all,  don't  you  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply,  and  she  continued,  "  What  a 
streak  'tis  in  John,  goin'  down  below." 

All  was  silent  except  the  old  clock,  and  she  demanded 
bluntly,  — 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  a  queer  prank  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  nor  heard  of  it  till  this  morn- 
ing." 

-  "  Good  land  !  you  don't  mean  it !  I'll  bet  it'll  be  the 
ruination  of  him.  I  should  hate  to  have  him  go  like 
destruction  if  he  belonged  to  me." 

The  settled  prediction  of  shipwreck  fretted  the  girl, 
who  answered  pointedly,  "  My  uncle  has  faith  in  him." 

"  Yes  ;  faith  in  folks  is  his  weak  point ;  but,  as  I  was 
a-sayin',  won't  he  make  his  hansum  face  an'  takin'  ways 
go  for  all  they're  wuth.  I  s'pose  he'll  be  back  one  of 


180  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

these  days  with  a  city  gal  tucked  under  his  arm,  a-min- 
cin'  an'  a-puckerin',  all  feathers  an'  furbelows,  an'  pokin' 
fun  at  us." 

A  Yankee  hates  a  sneer.  He  is  a  born  fighter ;  but 
his  spirit  is  so  high,  and  a  sneer  is  so  mean  a  weapon, 
he  generally  turns  his  back  to  it  in  contempt,  and  this 
characteristic  attaches  as  well  to  women  as  to  men. 
For  one  brief  moment  'Lisbeth  seemed  to  hear  a  derisive 
laugh  from  the  mythical  woman,  and  hated  her  and  her 
lover,  as  well  as  the  spinster  who  conjured  up  the  pic- 
ture. Then  she  blamed  herself  because  of  one  distrust- 
ful feeling;  but  she  bit  a  thread  off  savagely  before 
remarking,  — 

"  He  wouldn't  be  seen  bringing  home  such  a  woman 
to  laugh  at  Mrs.  Lane." 

"  We  can't  mostly  —  oh,  my  stars,  'Lisbeth  Wilson, 
see  this  work  !  It's  a  perfect  sight !  I've  put  these 
sleeves  in  gusset  to  shoulder  seam,  an'  felled  'em  fine 
an'  close." 

Lois  burst  in  upon  them,  pretty,  sensible,  impetuous, 
and  warm-hearted.  She  was  also  auburn-haired  and 
brown-eyed,  her  father's  pet,  and  a  skilled  musician. 
Her  emphatic  speech  began  immediately,  — 

"  You've  come,  'Lisbeth  —  good.  You  look  cross  ; 
don't  she,  boys  ?  "  She  spoke  to  her  two  brothers,  one 
older,  one  younger,  than  herself,  who  came  in  with  her. 
"Well,  you'll  look  crosser,  black  as  ink,  when  I  tell 
you  what  father  expects  us  to  do  for  muster." 


Muster  181 

"  Harry  and  I  can't  help,"  broke  in  Dave.  "  He's 
got  to  drill  afternoons,  and  I  shall  have  to  help  him 
fix  his  gun  and  cartridge-box  and  flints  and  things." 

"  Of  course  ;  nobody  but  'Lisbeth  and  I  to  do  any- 
thing —  dust  and  put  things  in  order,  and  ransack  the 
hill  for  partridge-vine  and  bleached  brakes.  Then 
father  says  we  must  learn  a  new  song  he's  got.  Oh, 
dear,  'Lisbeth !  " 

Mrs.  Baker  entered,  saying,  "  There,  lay  your  sewing 
right  down,  and  come  to  dinner." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

MUSTEK 

ALL  over  the  village  people  made  stirring  preparation 
for  muster.  Within  doors  the  great  ovens  were  scarcely 
cool  for  a  week  beforehand ;  and  outside,  dwarf  asters 
and  marigolds  nodded  and  winked  knowingly  at  each 
other  across  cleanly  raked  front  yards. 

Yellow  floors  fairly  shone  between  braided  mats,  and 
windows  were  crystal  clear ;  for  out  of  them  on  training- 
day  sweet-faced  women  would  watch  the  militia  march- 
ing to  its  rendezvous  on  the  village  street,  or  filing  past 
in  regimental  order  to  the  parade  ground. 

Great  training,  or  muster,  was  the  supreme  event  of 


182  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

the  year.  It  occupied  an  entire  day,  and  was  a  wonder- 
ful time  for  patriotism,  gingerbread,  and  Medford  rum. 
It  was  a  general  muster  of  the  people  also,  an  annual 
gathering  of  all  men  and  boys  from  towns  represented 
by  the  soldiery.  By  the  time  haying  and  oat-har- 
vestingwere  finished  they  began  planning  for  "great 
training." 

The  habits  of  the  people  were  so  quiet  and  domestic, 
modes  and  means  of  travel  were  so  slow  and  difficult,  it 
was  a  matter  of  "town  talk"  for  a  man  to  go  twenty- 
five  miles  from  home;  therefore,  going  to  muster  was  a 
momentous  journey,  entered  upon  with  forethought. 

Each  town  had  its  saw-mill  or  tannery,  taverns  and 
village  stores ;  but  training-ground  was  the  one  general 
place  for  the  meeting  of  friends. 

The  promiscuous  multitude,  together  with  tentholders, 
pedlers,  and  bakers,  made  novel  and  picturesque*  group- 
ings in  the  field. 

Many  persons  turned  an  honest  penny  by  "  keeping  a 
tent,"  where  they  sold  homemade  food  and  drinks,  and 
sometimes  small  articles  of  dress,  —  linen  bosoms,  mit- 
tens, and  the  like.  The  "tent"  consisted  of  a  few 
stakes  driven  down  so  as  to  form  a  square,  with  rough 
boards  nailed  against  them  to  keep  the  crowd  out,  and 
flat  ones  atop  for  a  counter. 

Bakers'  carts  carried  one  commodity,  just  one,  but 
toothsome,  —  baker's  gingerbread,  cooked  in  sheets  about 
six  inches  long,  three  wide,  and  less  than  half  an  inch 


Muster  183 

thick  The  crowd  bought  without  stint,  and  always 
carried  some  home  to  women  and  girls. 

The  pedlers  were  an  "institution,"  wags  of  the  mus- 
ter ground,  quick-witted  and  brimful  of  fun. 

There  were  usually  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  carts 
clustered  near  together,  each  pedler  upon  his  cart,  his 
own  auctioneer,  vying  with  all  others  to  attract  the 
multitude  by  telling  stories,  cracking  jokes,  or  singing 
comical  songs.  They  were  a  noisy,  jolly  set,  dividing 
the  attention  of  the  throng  with  the  evolutions  of  the 
troopers. 

They  vended  gloves,  mittens,  wooden  combs,  high 
horn  ones,  beads,  feather  fans,  and  other  small  wares, 
and  bought  small  peltry. 

The  crowd  wandered  around  those  attractions  all  day 
long,  with  hands  hung  loosely  to  pockets,  or  rested  on 
convenient  stones,  chaffing,  telling  stories,  or  trading 
independently. 

It  whistled  and  whittled  and  hurrahed  for  the  mi- 
litia all  over  the  ground.  Boys  sold  their  squirrel 
and  woodchuck  skins  to  pedlers,  and  swapped  what- 
ever indefinite  hoard  stuffs  a  boy's  pocket,  while  men 
bartered  all  their  belongings  except  their  families,  re- 
ligion, and  patriotism. 

Muster-fields  were  selected  by  regimental  officers,  and 
they  paid  for  the  use  of  them.  In  choosing  one,  the 
officers  were  guided  by  several  concurrent  reasons,  as 
its  size,  and  it  should  be  smooth  and  level  grass-land, 


184  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

and  within  reasonable  distance  should  be  a  good  place 
for  rendezvous.  Concerning  the  last  the  adjutant  took 
great  interest,  for  it  gave  him  opportunity  to  show  his 
ability  and  further  his  desire  for  promotion. 

A  regiment  was  usually  required  to  be  in  line  by 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  so  the  men  were  "  warned 
to  appear"  by  five  or  six,  that  company  organizations 
might  be  made  and  breakfast  eaten  in  season  for  regi- 
mental formation. 

As  soldiers  and  civilians  were  obliged  to  travel  from 
ten  to  twenty  miles,  —  often  on  foot,  of  course,  —  they 
consumed  most  of  the  previous  night  reaching  the 
ground.  Boosters  crowed  in  barns,  and  tallow  candles 
flitted  from  room  to  room  of  houses  all  along  their 
route.  Fun  began  when  squads  of  soldiers  collected, 
with  full  cartridge-boxes  and  powder-horns,  and  forth- 
with proceeded  to  "  wake  up "  their  officers.  It  was 
accomplished  by  firing  under  each  officer's  window  until 
he  asked  them  in  to  partake  of  liquid  refreshment,  for 
nearly  all  drank  spirits  moderately. 

By  law  all  male  citizens  between  the  ages  of  eighteen 
and  forty-five  years  were  enrolled,  and,  with  few  excep- 
tions, liable  to  military  duty. 

Several  towns  were  classed  together  by  State  authori- 
ties for  regimental  purposes,  and  each  town  was  expected 
to  furnish  at  least  one  company  of  infantry;  then,  if 
citizens  of  a  town  who  were  liable  to  military  duty 
chose  to  form  independent  companies  and  uniform  them- 


Muster  185 

selves,  they  were  allowed  to  select  their  own  officers, 
who  were  commissioned  by  the  governor  of  the  State, 
and  assigned  with  their  commands  to  positions  in  the 
regiments.  Such  officer^  were  empowered  with  the 
same  authority,  and  the  companies  were  subject  to  the 
same  duties,  as  the  regular  infantry.  They  were  called 
light  infantry,  from  part  of  their  dress. 

Then  it  was  competent  for  individual  citizens  resid- 
ing within  regimental  boundaries  to  organize  rifle,  artil- 
lery, or  cavalry  companies.  So  each  regiment  when  it 
appeared  on  parade  usually  consisted  of  several  com- 
panies of  infantry,  one  or  two  of  light  infantry,  and  one 
each  of  rifle,  cavalry,  and  artillery. 

The  officers  of  a  regiment  consisted  of  a  colonel, 
lieutenant-colonel,  adjutant,  quartermaster,  commissary, 
chaplain,  surgeon,  fife-major,  and  drum-major.  Musi- 
cians appeared,  with  each  his  instrument,  and  were 
enrolled  in  the  infantry  troops,  or  enlisted  in  volunteer 
ones,  or,  if  sufficient  number  applied  to  the  authorities 
for  such  a  purpose,  they  were  formed  into  a  band.  In 
that  case  they  were  to  perform  all  soldierly  duties  ex- 
cept as  to  equipment  and  bearing  of  arms.  The  regular 
infantry  appeared  on  parade  in  citizen's  dress,  over  which 
were  strapped  knapsack,  canteen,  bayonet-scabbard,  and 
a  cartridge-box  capable  of  holding  twenty-four  cartridges. 
Each  soldier,  regular  or  volunteer,  must  also  have  a 
priming  wire  and  brush,  and  two  spare  flints.  He  must 
bear  a  musket  capable  of  carrying  a  ball,  furnished  with 


186  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

a  good  flint,  bayonet,  iron  or  steel  ramrod,  all  clean  and 
ready  for  use.  He  was  fined  if  he  failed  to  have  any 
one  of  those  articles,  the  inspecting  officer  judging 
whether  or  not  his  accoutrements  answered  the  legal 
requirements.  Light  infantry  companies  wore  white 
linen  pantaloons ;  blue  or  black  coats  trimmed  with  red, 
white,  or  yellow ;  tall  shiny  leather  caps,  bearing  high 
white  red-tipped  plumes.  They  were  required  to  be 
armed  and  equipped  precisely  as  were  the  regulars ;  but 
the  few  sharpshooters  might  wear  darker  suits,  small 
caps,  and  simple  black  feather.  Artillerymen  were 
accoutred  in  dark  suits,  red-striped,  low  or  half-high 
cockaded  hats,  and  wore  over  their  dress,  sword-strap 
and  belt,  from  which  hung  sword  and  scabbard.  Cav- 
alrymen were  attired  in  short  pants  stuck  in  high- 
topped  boots,  yellow-trimmed  jackets,  low  caps,  and 
long  bending  white  plumes.  They  were  armed  with 
swords  and  pistols. 

The  Wednesday  after  'Lisbeth  went  out  to  her  uncle's 
was  muster  morning.  The  adjutant  was  astir  on  his 
black  horse,  galloping  from  troop  to  squad  and  straggling 
soldiers,  long  before  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Troops 
and  citizens  were  arriving.  Patriotism  and  martial 
pride  ruled  the  town. 

Advancing  day  disclosed  the  regulars  in  citizen's  dress 
and  military  accoutrements,  standing  by  their  arms  or 
sitting  on  grassy  borders  of  the  streets  around  the  vil- 
lage green,  and  northerly,  farther  than  Holderness  Bridge. 


Muster  187 

Light  infantry  displayed  its  shiny  caps  and  beautiful 
plumes  down  the  street  to  the  Thurlow  Hill  bend.  Op- 
posite the  tavern,  up  Haverhill  pike,  red  artillery  stripes 
and  cockades  rose  behind  the  cavalry's  few  but  knightly 
top-boots  and  graceful  feathers. 

Visiting  and  happy  rested  and  loitered  that  citizen 
soldiery.  Long  journeys  and  an  almost  sleepless  night 
had  left  it  buoyant,  thrilling  with  patriotic  fervor  be- 
cause it  was  not  there  to  learn  the  art  of  war  for 
another,  but  for  itself,  that  so  each  man  might  be 
skilled  to  defend  his  own  kingsh'ip. 

The  rising  Indian  summer  sun  caressed  long  lines  of 
cleanly  polished  bayonets,  warmed  waving  plume  and 
shining  epaulet,  blessed  flag,  pennon,  and  guidon,  and 
breathed  a  pax  vobiscum  upon  that  armed  town.  No 
lady  went  upon  the  field,  but  it  was  the  bounden  duty 
of  women  to  make  lovely  window  pictures  many  times 
multiplied  and  rearranged  along  the  rendezvous  lines. 

Groups  of  girls  were  framed  behind  the  panes,  sunny- 
browed  or'  demure,  coquettish  or  prim,  with  curling  locks 
or  smooth-tressed,  witchingly  frowning  as  a  favored 
officer  rode  by  unheeding,  or  smiling  when  another 
touched  his  plumed  hat.  Behind  them  rowrs  of  caps 
enclosed  sweet  women's  faces.  Caps  of  thick  muslin 
and  double-plaited  borders  trimmed  with  one  straight 
width  of  lutestring  tied  under  the  chin,  caps  fashioned 
out  of  soft,  filmy  lace  adorned  with  knots,  bows,  and 
floating  ribbons. 


188  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

They  made  heartening  portraitures  as  armed  men 
filed  past,  and  the  air  was  alive  and  palpitating  to  fife 
and  drum. 

"  Where  is  Captain and  the  Campton  Light  In- 
fantry ?  "  queried  the  regulars  from  thence. 

The  truth  was,  a  squad  in  waking  the  captain  had 
charged  their  muskets  so  heavily  as  to  break  some  glass, 
and  chip  the  woodshed  underpinning.  The  last  volley 
burst  an  old  flintlock,  tearing  a  thumb  from  a  recruit  as 
a  preparation  for  an  able  and  most  excellent  ministry. 
The  accident  belated  them ;  but  just  as  wonder  grew  to 
anxiety,  a  faint  and  far  note  of  a  bugle  trilled  down 
from  Campton  road,  and  soon  the  troop  went  marching 
past  Squire  Baker's  at  a  swinging  gait. 

A  little  cloud  went  over  Lois's  white  brow,  for  her 
true  word  was  given  to  the  debonair  captain  who 
hurried  past  without  so  much  as  raising  his  hand  from 
the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

He  was  descended  from  one  whose  great  height, 
remarkable  beauty,  probity,  ability,  gentleness,  and 
courage  led  the  Indians  to  esteem  him  especially  blessed 
of  God.  They  never  released  an  arrow  against  him,  nor 
did  he  ever  reside  in  a  stockade. 

The  elastic  figure  and  courteous  movement  of  Lois's 
lover  were  said  to  be  inherited,  as  were  his  large  grayish- 
blue  eyes,  fine  nose,  full  brows,  and  white  forehead,  from 
which  a  heavy  crop  of  brown  hair  was  carefully  brushed. 
His  gentle  nature  restrained  a  quaint  humor  and  mar- 


Muster  189 

vellous  gift  of  sarcasm.  He  added  a  peculiar  shyness 
characteristic  of  proud,  thoughtful  men.  He  held  his 
voice  and  well-played  violin  ready  at  call  for  evening 
pastimes  or  minor  psalms.  He  scorned  to  be  late,  as  did 
his  command,  so  the  troop  went  impatiently  to  its  place 
opposite  the  tavern.  The  adjutant  rode  up  as  it  halted, 
and  inquired,  "-How  soon  will  your  company  be  ready, 
Captain  ?  " 

"All  ready,  Adjutant  Russell.  We  breakfasted  and 
called  the  roll  on  the  march." 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time,  Captain,  and  a  cup  of  coffee 
is  awaiting  you  at  Squire  Baker's  while  your  men  rest." 
Every  soldier  knew  why  there  was  such  a  curious  glint 
in  the  adjutant's  eye  as  he  rode  full  tilt  among  them ;  for 
that  martial  figure  on  the  coal-black  steed,  with  saddle- 
cloth of  red  flannel  wrought  with  gold  braid,  darted  con- 
tinually in  and  out  among  the  troops,  or  to  the  tavern 
where  the  beautifully  caparisoned  horses  of  the  colonel 
and  his  staff  champed  their  bits. 

"  Adjutant  Dave,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  was  an 
energetic  and  persistent  young  man,  always  free  and 
obliging,  and  as  proud  a  soldier  as  ever  wore  uniform  ; 
besides,  he  was  one  of  the  best  horsemen  in  the  State.  A 
year  before  he  had  been  overruled  in  choosing  a  field, 
so  the  regiment  was  called  together  in  a  hilly  highway. 

There  being  no  room  to  manoeuvre,  officers  became 
confused  and  lost  their  places,  while  the  following  men 
executed  some  strange  movements. 


190  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  adjutant  vowed  to  locate  a  field  according  to  his 
own  mind  next  time,  and  he  had  done  so ;  but  mostly  at 
his  own  expense,  which  gave  him  opportunity  to  per- 
form one  of  his  famous  feats. 

To  reimburse  himself  he  decided  to  charge  applying 
tentholders  and  peddlers  an  entrance  fee  to  the  ground. 
They  resented  the  tax  as  an  infringment  upon  long 
held  rights,  and  determined  to  go  upon  the  muster 
ground  nighj;  beforehand,  knowing  a  legal  process  could 
not  drive  them  out  before  muster. 

Hearing  of  their  intention,  the  adjutant  posted  a 
guard  of  resolute  young  men,  his  personal  friends, 
around  the  field. 

The  traffickers  appeared,  refused  to  pay  rental,  and 
being  satisfied  they  could  not  pass  the  guard,  they  con- 
sulted together,  and  finally  at  night  crossed  the  inter- 
vale and  climbed  the  winding  hill  road. 

The  far  side  of  both  intervale  and  muster  field  was 
skirted  by  a  steep,  rough,  thickly  wooded  bluff.  Cov- 
ered by  forest  and  darkness,  they  turned  across  Col- 
onel Livermore's  field  to  the  top  of  the  hill  above  the 
open  parade,  where  they  unhitched  their  teams,  carried 
carts,  tent  materials,  and  merchandise  down,  and  re- 
loaded. Finally,  they  wound  down  the  stony  scarp, 
leading  oxen  and  horses,  which  they  re-yoked  and  re- 
harnessed,  and  drove  cautiously  to  the  proper  place. 
Many  tents  and  carts  were  in  place  before  the  trick 
was  discovered. 


Muster  191 

"  Foreordination,"  said  the  adjutant ;  "  withdraw  the 
guard." 

Everybody  had  heard  the  story,  and  each  soldier 
shared  the  adjutant's  ambition  to  make  a  comely  entry 
upon  ground  he  cnvned  for  the  day.  Even  the  boys  hur- 
rahed for  him  ;  and  women  eagerly  remarked  each  care- 
ful movement  as  he  formed  the  regimental  column  by 
company,  in  four  files,  headed  by  drum-major  and  fife- 
major. 

At  last  drums  rolled,  banners  waved,  and  the  minia- 
ture army  marched  past  windows  filled  with  admiring 
sweethearts,  wives,  and  mothers,  to  the  training-ground 
across  Holderness  bridge  on  Livermore's  intervale,  north 
side  of  the  highway. 

Shortly  after  it  was  followed  by  a  cavalcade  from  the 
tavern,  —  the  colonel  and  his  staff,  accompanied  by  a 
visiting  general  from  Boston.  They  were  uniformed  in 
blue  broadcloth  trimmed  with  gold  lace,  buff  vests,  gold 
epaulets,  and  black  cocked  hats  adorned  with  long  black 
ostrich  feathers.  Their  spirited  horses  were  equipped 
with  handsome  bridles,  breastplates,  martingales,  and 
saddles,  and  beautiful  housings  of  flannel  or  skins. 

When  the  colonel,  surrounded  by  his  aids  and  invited 
guests,  rode  up  to  take  command,  he  saw  on  the  level 
and  open  parade,  against  a  background  of  baring  bush 
and  tree,  six  infantry  companies  in  line,  two  ranks  deep, 
men  of  all  heights  and  sizes,  clothed  in  homemade  garb, 
some  wearing  caps,  others  high  or  half-high  wool  hats, 


192  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

standing  carelessly  in  a  military  point  of  view,  but 
armed  and  equipped  according  to  law,  and  full  of  zeal. 

At-  their  right  stood  two  companies  of  light  infantry 
in  single  rank,  uniforms  and  arms  fresh  and  bright. 
Still  at  the  right  were  the  musicians,  massed ;  then  an 
artillery  company  of  fifty  men  posted  in  line  on  either 
side  of  a  very  small  cannon,  and  on  the  extreme  right  of 
the  regiment  less  than  a  hundred  cavalrymen,  booted, 
spurred,  and  plumed,  sat  upon  horses,  black,  white,  bay, 
and  dappled. 

Behind  the  colonel  the  picture  was  completed  by 
hundreds  of  men  and  boys  dressed  in  homespun,  shout- 
ing and  joking  around  tents,  carts,  and  screaming  ped- 
lers,  or  eagerly  crowding  up  to  the  guard-line. 

The  commander's  first  orders  formed  his  regiment 
into  a  hollow  square  for  prayers.  Every  noise  on  the 
open  parade  ceased,  all  hats  were  removed,  and  the 
chaplain,  Mr.  Ward,  with  his  white  scarf  about  him, 
became  the  one  reverently  observed  figure  on  that  field, 
as  he  returned  thanks  for  what  arms  had  accomplished, 
petitioned  for  success  if  further  conflict  must  needs  be, 
and  for  the  final  sheathing  of  sword  and  bayonet  every- 
where. 

Inspection  immediately  followed  prayers,  and  began 
with  cavalry,  around  which  inspecting  officers  rode,  and 
examined  its  swords  and  pistols  one  by  one.  If  any 
imperfections  were  discovered,  an  aid  noted  it  down. 

Then  the  officers  dismounted,  examined  the  artillery 


Muster  193 

sabres,  and  walked  around  the  poor  little  cannon,  after- 
wards turning  to  the  infantry,  and  inspecting  its  arms 
and  equipments,  which  being  completed,  officers  took 
their  places  for  the  review  that  closely  followed. 

At  the  conclusion  of  that  military  ceremony  the  col- 
onel re-formed  his  battalion  in  hollow  square,  that  it 
might  listen  to  the  address  of  the  inspector  general,  who 
criticised,  commended,  and  exhorted  with  dashes  of  mar- 
tial wit,  till  buglers  sounded  the  call  to  dinner.  Ranks 
were  hastily  broken.  Some  of  the  men  brought  dinners 
from  home,  many  patronized  the  victualling  tents. 

Squire  Baker,  a  former  commander  of  the  battalion, 
invited  the  colonel,  his  guests  and  aids,  to  dinner. 

It  could  be  only  a  delightful  nooning  where  the  squire 
and  his  wife  presided  at  the  feast,  where  Lois  and  'Lis- 
beth  sparkled  at  the  board. 

Drill  in  the  manual  of  arms  was  the  afternoon  occu- 
pation. Infantry  filed  right  and  left,  halted,  wheeled, 
faced  about,  and  did  all  other  acts  and  things  in  such 
cases  made  and  provided. 

Artillery  thundered  very  loudly  when  one  considered 
the  size  of  its  ordnance ;  and  cavalry,  proud  and  pictur- 
esque, reined  its  assortment  of  horses  with  remarkable 
precision,  because  every  man  was  a  horseman  from 
necessity,  though  each  discharge  of  artillery  caused 
much  rearing  and  snorting  among  the  rustic  steeds. 

It  frequently  occurred  toward  the  close  of  duty  that 
the  colonel  granted  to  some  minor  officer  the  coveted 


194  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

privilege  of  drilling  the  battalion  for  half  an  hour.  He 
offered  it  to  Adjutant  Eussell  that  afternoon  with  many 
expressions  of  commendation. 

Immediately  Adjutant  Dave  rode  slowly  along  the 
line  to  the  centre,  chatted  a  moment  with  Captain 
Hobart,  who  held  the  right  centre  with  a  company  of 
picked  Plymouth  men,  then  went  into  drill  vigorously 
as  was  his  wont,  soon  bringing  the  regiment  into  perfect 
sympathy  with  himself.  He  sent  an  orderly  to  the 
band  with  instructions  to  play  Yankee  Doodle  until  he 
finished  the  drill.  At  that  moment  the  black  horse 
felt  a  sharp  spur-prick,  and  dashed  beyond  the  guard 
line.  He  was  reined  head  to  the  regiment  and  stood  a 
moment's  time,  arching,  curvetting,  pawing  before  the 
advancing  lines  of  sunlit  steel,  borne  by  soldiers  strung 
to  the  highest  pitch.  When  the  regiment  reached  the 
guards  an  order  rang  clear  as  a  bugle,  — 

"  Charge  bayonets ;  forward,  double  quick,  march." 

The  armed  mass  comprehended  at  once  what  was 
wanted  of  it,  and  hastened  to  obey.  Song,  jest,  and 
story,  auctioneers'  cries,  and  pedlers'  gains  were  broken 
off  without  point  or  period;  for  after  one  instant  of 
completely  dazed  inaction,  the  whole  crowd  of  sellers, 
buyers,  and  jokers  scurried  in  all  directions  from  that" 
solid,  excited,  determined  phalanx. 

When  the  soldiers  reached  the  tents  they  split  them 
into  kindling  wood  with  their  bayonets ;  tapped  cider 
barrels  and  rum  kegs  ;  scattered  gingerbread,  pies,  and 


Mr.  Wilson  Carries  a  Grist  to  Mill  195 

crackers ;  upset  pedlers'  carts,  turning  them  over  and 
over  as  far  as  they  went ;  until  they  heard  above  the 
confusion  "  Halt,"  and  "  About  face ;  "  then  they  marched 
quietly  back,  some  bayonets  broken,  many  ornamented 
with  pieces  of  gingerbread,  crusts  of  pie,  bungs  of  cider 
barrels  and  rum  kegs,  but  each  man  feeling  in  himself 
a  sense  of  duty  done ;  and  courteously  returned  to  the 
colonel. 

So  Adjutant  Dave's  running  account  with  hucksters 
was  settled. 

Keview  followed  immediately,  after  which  the  bat- 
talion was  dismissed,  and  started  by  many  ways  home 
the  proudest,  jolliest  set  of  men  that  ever  returned 
from  muster. 

Campton's  Light  Infantry  captain  and  young  Mayhew 
made  merry  at  Squire  Baker's ;  and  the  village  store  was 
crammed  with  men  who  told  stories  of  Adjutant  Dave, 
from  his  milk  and  pinafore  days  up  to  that  afternoon. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

MR.    WILSON    CARRIES    A    GRIST    TO    MILL 

THE  Monday  after  muster,  Phil  and  one  of  the  Kidder 
boys  helped  Mr.  "\Vilson  thresh  wheat.  While  himself 
and  Tom  unbound  some  sheaves,  and  laid  them,  heads 
inward,  in  two  long  rows  a  foot  apart,  so  that  the 


196  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

threshers  might  walk  between,  beating  out  the  full 
kernels  with  swinging  flails,  he  heard  talking  by  the 
bay,  where  his  neighbors'  sons  were '  fastening  a  loose 
flail-hinge.  They  had  used  some  time  at  it,  though  it 
was  a  simple  matter;  for  a  hinge  was  only  several 
leathern  thongs  nailed  closely  to  the  ends  of  two  long 
round  sticks. 

He  walked  toward  them,  and  heard  Phil  say,— 

"  I  hope  he'll  go  if  he  wants  to." 

"  Who's  goin',  an'  where  to  ?  "  sharply  demanded  Mr. 
Wilson. 

"  He  says  John  is,  —  to  Boston." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  a  word  on't,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson ;  but 
still  he  felt  disturbed.  WThat  if  it  were  true  ? 

What  if  he  should  go,  holding  'Lisbeth's  promise  ? 
He  must  see  to  it.  How  ?  well  — 

"  I'll  bet  he  is  goin' !  "  exclaimed  Jack.  "  For  when  I 
went  up  to  borrer  the  winowin'  mill  this  mornin',  Mr. 
Lane  was  fixin'  a  hair  trunk,  an'  Mis'  Lane  was  wipin' 
her  eyes,  they  was  real  red;  an'  when  I  asked  him  for 
the  winowin'  mill  he  snapped  shorter'n  a  pipe  stem,  an 
said  '  Yes ;  take  the  mill,  or  barn,  or  anything  else,'  he 
didn't  care  a  cent ! " 

"  Is  that  flail  mended  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Wilson  tartly. 
"  We've  tew  more  floorin's  to  thrash  an'  winner,  an'  it's 
goin'  on  to  sundown." 

He  did  some  powerful  threshing  in  his  mind  before 
he  went  to  supper,  and  after  the  meal  was  over,  he  or- 
dered the  boys  thus,  — 


Mr.  Wilson  Carries  a  Grist  to  Mill  197 

"Jack,  you  an'  Tom  go  an'  shell  three  bushels  of  old 
corn,  an'  one  of  new  for  hominy ;  we  must  grind  enough 
to  last  while  we  are  gittin'  out  the  oats  an'  doin'  fall 
ploughin'.  I  can't  go  to  mill  till  afternoon  to-morrer, 
but  I  want  it  ready." 

Truth  was,  he  had  concluded  to  go  to  Plymouth  and, 
as  chance  offered,  settle  'Lisbeth'a  future  while  waiting 
for  his  grist.  Speech  was  difficult  to  these  reticent  men, 
who  regarded  loquacity  as  a  specious  form  of  tempta- 
tion, to  be  fought  against  and  overcome.  He  reached 
the  matter  very  badly  at  last,  in  his  hurry  to  have  it 
over. 

It  was  just  as  the  supper  ended  at  Squire  Baker's, 
responding  to  the  squire's  request  that  'Lisbeth  stay 
with  them  during  the  winter,  attending  the  Academy,  — 

"  Well,  she  can't,  William,  as  I  see.  I  s'pose  'Lis- 
beth expects  to  take  a  reg'lar  school  in  the  spring; 
'tenerate,  her  mother  an'  I  plan  for  it,  an'  it's  good  as 
settled." 

"  Why,  'Lisbeth  !  "  cried  the  family,  but  she  simply  re- 
garded her  father  in  blank  astonishment.  He  blundered 
on,  — 

"  She  knows  she  can  have  it,  an'  I've  passed  my 
word.  Only  one  scholar,  though." 

"  Who  ?  "  sternly  questioned  the  squire. 

"  Philip  Harmon." 

"  You  mean  Elizabeth  is  to  marry  him  next  spring  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  it ;  an'  she  must  begin  spinnin'  an'  mak- 


198  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

in'  her  things  ;  for  I  lay  out  to  give  her  a  good  marriage 
portion." 

The  Baker  boys  were  furious,  and  tore  out  doors  f- 
their  mother  dropped  a  teacup.  Mr.  Wilson  said,  as  he 
rose  from  the  table,  that  he  would  do  some  errands  at 
Russell's  store,  and  come  back,  as  the  grist  would  not  be 
ready  till  seven.  Mrs.  Baker  wiped  the  china  carefully, 
leaving  her  husband  to  parley  with  himself.  A  histo- 
rian thus  describes  his  character  :  "  A  man  of  great  per- 
sonal dignity,  grave,  reserved,  retiring,  yet  always  ready 
at  the  call  of  duty  ;  of  profound  convictions  and  great 
courage  in  maintaining  them ;  of  unswerving  adherence 
to  principle ;  and  of  spotless  integrity,  whose  words, 
never  superfluous,  were  inviolable.  Upon  public  ques- 
tions his  voice  was  clear  and  prophetic  ;  in  the  church 
his  counsels  always  made  for  peace  and  righteousness. 
At  the  bar  his  knowledge  of  law  was  so  correct,  his 
sense  of  justice  so  keen,  that  in  one  case  of  appeal  to 
the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  the  judge  inquired  from 
whose  decision  the  appeal  was  taken.  On  being  told, 
he  answered  the  attorney  that  it  was  scarcely  worth 
while  to  prosecute  the  appeal,  since  the  colonel's  decis- 
ions were  always  found  correct." 

It  was  he  who  now  called  to  mind  his  promise  to  the 
King ;  and  he  followed  'Lisbeth,  who  had  wandered 
drearily  into  the  parlor.  She  was  standing  by  the  high 
mantel,  her  head  against  it,  and  arms  hanging  limp  be- 
side her. 


Mr.  Wilson  Carries  a  Grist  to  Mill  199 

The  weary  figure  smote  his  heart  like  a  blow.  He 
went  straight  to  her,  and  spoke  very  gently,  — 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you  and  John,  Elizabeth." 

"  0  uncle  !  "  was  all  she  uttered ;  there  was  no  cry- 
ing, no  quiver,  only  despair. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Elizabeth.  I  wish  to  help. 
Such  events  in  a  young  girl's  life  are  sacred,  and  I  feel 
the  utmost  diffidence  in  approaching  the  subject.  But 
sore  trouble  threatens  you,  and  I  desire  to  save  the  per- 
illed happiness  of  two  lives  very  dear  to  me." 

He  hesitated,  then  added,  "But  you  shall  speak  or 
not,  as  you  choose,  my  child." 

"  I  must  speak ;  I  have  to.  I  cannot,  I  think  I  will 
not,  marry  Philip  Harmon ;  but  then,  what  is  to  be 
done  ?  Tell  me,  do  tell  me,  unele,  if  there  is  any  way 
out." 

"  Yes,  child,  one ;  you  will  follow  the  straight  path  of 
duty,  justice,  and  womanly  truth.  To  miss  that  is  to 
fail  utterly." 

His  composed  courage  so  fortified  her,  that  a  pitiful 
ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  her  face,  as  he  contin- 
ued,— 

"There,  now,  Elizabeth,  come  and  sit  down  by  me. 
We  begin  at  the  beginning.  About  this  young  Harmon, 
it  seems  you  have  refused  him,  and  your  decision  is 
overruled  on  appeal  as  it  were." 

"  Why,  no,  uncle  ;  Phil  has  not  spoken  to  me." 

"  I'm  surprised,"  said  he,  taking  the  snuffers  and  clip- 


200  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

ping  the  candlewick  while  he  controlled  a  rising  tem- 
per ;  for,  though  the  King  had  so  claimed,  he  had 
believed  that  good  soul  mistaken  about  it  —  "  surprised. 
It  seems  incredible.  He  —  but  go  on,  my  dear ;  pro- 
ceed cautiously  and  slowly.  Tell  me  exactly  how  you 
understand  it." 

"  Phil  has  never  asked  me  to  marry  him,  nor  men- 
tioned it.  I  really  think  he  likes  Eunice  Batchelder 
better  than  any  girl,  or  anybody  but  himself ;  but  he  is 
conceited,  uncle.  He  is  simply  trying  to  prove  himself 
too  smart  for  me.  His  father's  property  will  be  his  ;  a 
good  farm  well-stocked  and  some  money,  it  is  said.  He 
is  honest,  industrious,  and  capable,  belongs  to  the 
church,  and  father  favors  him.  That  is  all." 

"  He  means  to  marry  you  whether  or  no.  The  case 
has  some  peculiar  features,"  and  he  smiled  grimly. 

"We  will  put  Harmon  by  for  awhile,  pigeonhole  his 
case,  and  take  up  young  Mayhew.  Know  much  as  to 
his  side  of  this  affair  ?  He  has  addressed  your  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  and  me." 

"  Of  course,  my  child,  he  is  no  thief.  Your  troth  is 
plighted  to  him,  and  your  father  refuses  to  sanction  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but,  say,  uncle,  why  does  he  go  away  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  best  for  you  both,  —  unless  you  will 
marry  him." 

"  In  plain  disobedience  to  my  father  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"Would  it  be  right?" 


Mr.  Wilson  Carries  a  Grist  to  Mill  201 

"  Answer  for  yourself." 

Her  face  flushed  like  the  rosy  dawn  at  first,  then 
became  gray  and  hopeless ;  but  she  replied  firmly,  — 

"  It  would  be  very  wrong." 

"  Then  he  must  go.     What  else  can  hinder  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  quivered  through  the  white  lips ;  and 
she  continued,  grasping  his  sleeve,  "  I  want  to  do  my 
duty,  to  honor  my  father;  but  do  not  ever  tell  me  I 
must  marry  the  other  one." 

"  Never  ;  Harmon's  conduct  is  unfair,  unmanly,  an 
attempt  to  steal  what  he  cannot  rightly  win." 

"  Suppose  father  disowns  me  ?  " 

"  Disowns  you  ?  Disowns  you,  Elizabeth  ?  He  will 
not." 

"  Grandma  threatened  it." 

"  She  did  ?  You  poor  child  !  Let  them  try  it ! 
Elizabeth,  Thomas  Wilson  is  too  proud  to  make  a  pub- 
lic spectacle  of  his  family ;  but  John  Mayhew  is  worth 
suffering  for,  keep  your  faith  in  him.  No  righteous 
law  can  dispose  of  your  life,  you  unconsenting ;  and 
I  counsel  you  never  to  disgrace  your  womanhood  by 
marrying  that  cur  down  towards  the  turnpike. 

"  Your  memory  will  be  a  shield  to  John,  and  at  least 
both  can  die  true  to  the  gracious  love  that  blesses  each, 
and  meet  without  shame  in  that  land  where  love  finds 
its  own  unquestioned.  Go  to  your  room  a  little  while, 
and  come  back  peaceful." 

The   squire  was   angry;   in  fact,  he   was   never   so 


202  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

furious  in  his  life.  The  whole  affair  was  contemptible, 
and  the  more  he  conned  it,  the  worse  it  looked. 

When  Mrs.  Baker  entered  the  room  she  found  him 
striding  back  and  forth  from  table  to  fireplace,  a  most 
unregenerate  scowl  wrinkling  his  brows. 

The  gentle  woman  paid  no  attention,  but  laid  a  fresh 
hard  maple  stick  across  the  andirons,  brushed  back  the 
light  ashes  with  a  gray  goose-wing,  lighted  the  candles 
in  the  bright  silver  candlestick  on  the  mantel,  placed 
a  pair  of  snuffers  beside  it,  and  went  to  t*he  table.  Mr. 
Baker  took  a  paper,  and  sat  down.  She  placed  a  chair 
near  him,  and  drew  some  knitting  from  a  basket.  She 
possessed  the  sweet  quietude  of  many  women  in  those 
homes.  There  was  something  telling  even  in  their 
manner  of  laying  down  work  or  taking  it  up  ;  an  ele- 
gance in  the  polite  flutter  of  cap-borders,  and  slow 
wafting  of  pale  tinted  untied  cap-strings,  that  floated 
back  over  their  shoulders.  Their  touch  was  a  bene- 
diction ;  their  lives,  psalms.  Mrs.  Baker  had  held  an 
experience  meeting  all  by  herself  out  in  the  supper- 
room,  and  fully  sympathized  with  her  husband.  She 
unrolled  the  work,  unwound  some  yarn,  laid  the  ball  in 
her  lap,  and  gazed  at  him.  How  proud  she  was  of  him, 
and  how  handsome  he  looked  in  plum-colored  velvet 
coat  and  buff  waistcoat,  and  breeches  fastened  to  silk 
hose  by  silver  buckles.  The  ruffled  shirt  softened  his 
shapely  hands,  and  lent  a  peculiar  grace  to  the  well- 
poised  head.  Glancing  again,  she  perceived  that  his 


Mr.  Wilson  Carries  a  Grist  to  Mill  203 

New  Hampshire  Patriot  was  wrong  side  up,  and  the 
scowl  had  deepened.  Rising,  she  brushed  back  the 
grayish  hair  from  his  fine  forehead,  and  smoothed  his 
stock,  saying,  — 

"  There  now,  father,  let  me  take  out  this  little 
wrinkle,  and  seems  to  me  this  ruffle  is  broken  a  mite 
under  your  chin." 

"  There's  no  trouble  with  the  ruffle ;  I  wish  you  would 
let  me  alone." 

"  Why,  father,  you  must  be  calm." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course !  just  as  composed  as  pur  old  clock 
in  the  corner.  Certainly." 

"  Why,  how  you  do  talk  !     What  ails  you  ?  " 

"  Brother-in-law !  got  it  all  over  from  head  to  foot, 
soul  and  body." 

"  William  !  are  you  speaking  of  Thomas  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Lois ;  that  same  old  tyrant." 

"  Why,  dear  me  !  there  !  " 

"  Were  you  at  the  table  this  evening  or  not  ?  " 

"I  was  there,  husband." 

"  You  were  !  Do  you  remember  any  startling  news 
related  by  our  dear  brother  during  the  meal,  or  an- 
nouncement of  his  intention  to  marry  'Lisbeth  out  of 
hand  to  Harmon,  knowing  he  sets  out  to  spoil  two  lives 
by  wilfulness  ?  " 

"  Thomas  will  do  right  in  the  end,  I  do  believe." 

"  Will  he  ?  When  will  he  begin  ?  He  never  beats 
around  the  bush.  I  heard  only  a  plain,  square  notice 
of  settled  purpose." 


204  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Sit  down,  father,  do;  you  will  bring  Thomas  round." 

"  Bring  him  round,  eh  ?  It  takes  a  sharp  bit  to  rein 
him;  he  may  make  one  to  tear  his  own  tongue  and 
bring  himself  about,  but  it  will  be  by  a  long  turn  and 
hard  one,  mind  my  words." 

"  How  you  do  talk !  I  never  heard  the  like  of  it, 
never."  He  rose.  "  Sit  down,  William,  do.  I'm  fright- 
ened ;  some  dreadful  thing  will  happen." 

"  It's  happening  —  one  of  the  worst.  Thomas  is 
playing  tyrant,  and  that  attempt  is  paid  for  the  world 
over.  He'll  settle  the  bills  in  my  judgment  to  the  last 
fo'pence  ha'p'ny." 

"  Here,  William,"  beating  a  cushion,  "  take  your  paper 
and  sit  down.  I'll  snuff  the  candles." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  read ;  I  can't.  John  pays  his  last 
visit  here  this  evening,  this  very  evening  ;  do  you  hear, 
Lois  ?  And  our  dear  brother  is  coming  too.  Well 
arranged,  isn't  it  ?  I  declare,"  he  continued,  stopping 
short,  "  I  believe  he  just  planned  it  on  purpose." 

"  Nobody  knows  he  is  going  but  the  Lanes,  and  they 
are  close-mouthed  people;  besides,  he  came  with  a 
grist." 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  his  coming  to  mill  at  this  time 
a-day  ?  Corn  never  brought  him  over  the  hubbly  roads 
to  ride  back  with  that  old  horse  at  night.  He  is  settling 
things.  He's  a  pattern  man,  Thomas  is." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  you  frighten  me." 

"  This  whole  business  is  heathenish,  Lois.     I  hope  he 


Mr.  Wilson  Grinds  His  Grist  205 

won't  stir  me  up  any.  I  can't  say  what  I  might  do.  I 
feel  like  swearing,  Lois ;  I've  a  good  mind  to  swear." 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  said  she  helplessly  as  he  brushed  her 
aside,  then  faced  her,  saying,  — 

"Now,  then,  Lois,  now  then,  he's  a  thundering  old 
idiot,  that's  what  he  is,  and  I  won't  take  back  a  word  or 
a  syllable." 

"  Why,  William  !  whyee-ee-ee  ! " 

"I  can't  help  it;  that  man  ought  to  be  sent  to  an 
asylum  for  the  irresponsible  or  else  tied  to  a  whip- 
ping-post." 

Rap,  tap,  tap  went  the  front  door  knocker. 

"  There  is  John,  and  'Lisbeth  will  soon  be  back ;  I'm 
going  to  run." 

"  You  cannot,  and  you  must  not." 

"I  can,  and  I  shall.  I'm  ashamed  to  see  either  of 
them,  —  feel  like  a  dog;  "  and  he  made  his  way  out  of 
one  door  as  John  entered  at  the  other. 


CHAPTER   XX 

HIS    GRIST    IS    GROUND 


"MRS.  BAKER  greeted  Mayhew  warmly,  for  her  heart 
ached  for  the  motherless  man,  driven  from  his  sweet- 
heart and  dreams  of  a  home.  She  was  glad  for  him 
when  'Lisbeth  came  in,  crewels  in  hand,  with  Lois. 


206  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  squire  returned  with  heightened  dignity  to  find 
Mr.  Wilson  and  John  discussing  the  crops. 

Immediately  politics,  perennial  theme  of  New  Hamp- 
shire men  and  women,  — they  were  all  brought  up  to  it, 
— became  the  topic. 

This  country  was  rooted  in  living  souls,  thrice  blessed 
will  the  future  State  become  if  it  shall  expand  and 
grow  to  the  perfect  fruitage  of  such  benign  planting. 

Mr.  Wilson  found  himself  admiring  John  exactly  as 
he  had  that  morning  when  he  began  haying. 

"  I  do  believe  I'm  kinder  hankerin '  after  him,"  he  told 
himself,  then  grew  stern,  and  recollected  that  his  errand 
was  not  so  much  grinding  of  corn  as  other  things.  He 
wished  to  know  if  that  dangerous  youngster  was  going 
away,  so  he  changed  the  subject. 

"  By  the  way,  I  heard  some  of  the  boys  say  you're 
go  in'  to  Boston." 

"  I  expect  to  go." 

«  Soon  ?  " 

"Next  Thursday." 

«  Sho  !     You'll  be  home  first." 

"  Yes,  to-morrow." 

"Goin'  into  law,  I  s'pose.  Well,  you've  heard  the  old 
story." 

The  squire  felt  like  giving  his  brother-in-law  a  piece 
of  his  mind,  and  the  foolish  remark  afforded  an  oppor- 
tunity. A  glance  at  'Lisbeth  bent  over  her  embroidery 
beside  his  own  mischievous  Lois  sharpened  the  retort. 


Mr.  Wilson  Grinds  His  Grist  207 

'•  Thomas,  that  old  story  is  a  lie  to  begin  with,  and 
has  been  musty  since  76.  Heavens  !  I  wonder  what 
gunpowder  .would  have  been  worth,  without  law  to 
frame  the  constitution  and  such  like  documents.  Free- 
dom wasn't  made  entirely  out  of  prayers  and  flint- 
locks." 

Brother-in-law  Thomas  was  fierce  in  asking,  "  Do  you 
suppose  we  got  along  without  'em  ?  " 

"Xo,  I  do  not;  I've  heard  prayer  fiery  enough  to 
touch  off  a  gun,  and  no  doubt  it  did,  and  I've  listened 
to  that  chilly  enough  to  freeze  powder." 

Here  Mrs.  Baker  tried  to  stay  the  electrical  storm, 
and  drew  its  whole  force.  "  Thomas,  I  hear  the  Powells 
have  brought  Becky  home,  and  I  hope  it  is  true.  How 
could  they  be  so  cruel  ?  " 

"  Cruel,  Lois  !  Her  father  done  right ;  'tw'an't  a  ques- 
tion of  choosin' ,  but  duty.  When  there's  only  one  road 
laid  out  afore  your  face,  you've  got  to  travel  it,  or  miss 
the  way.  There's  no  turnin'  into  by  and  forbidden 
paths.  We've  got  to  set  our  faces  like  flints  agin'  sech 
things." 

"  She  isn't  at  home,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is,  that's  the  plague  on't ;  it  upsets  dis- 
cipline, then  where  are  we  ?  " 

The  squire  determined  to  nail  the  matter  on  the  spot, 
and  see  whether  Mr.  Wilson  was  speaking  from  direct 
purpose,  or  at  random. 

"It  was  a  shame,  Thomas.     What  if  her  father  did 


208  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

command  her  to  marry  that  old  man  ?  She  could  not 
obey.  Daughters  are  not  traded  like  cattle.  Take  the 
question  home,  Thomas,  what  would  you  do  in  a  like 
case  ?  You  could  not  do  so." 

Mr.  Wilson  looked  at  his  beautiful  child,  growing 
blanched  meanwhile,  then  met  the  squire's  challenging 
gaze,  and  finally  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  proud,  supreme 
face  of  the  young  man,  not  once  dropping  them,  as  he 
answered  measuredly,  — 

"I  should  f oiler  my  duty  —  to  the  end." 

"  Thomas  Wilson,"  said  the  squire,  "  if  you  are  tak- 
ing that  pace,  you  better  find  out  what  duty  is  before 
you  start." 

"  Duty  is  foll'win'  the  doctrines.  I'm  goin'  that  gait, 
the  only  one  I  ever  knew." 

John  rose,  and  asked, . — 

"  Are  you  speaking  particularly  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am ;  you  know  that.  My  daughter  there 
marries  Philip  Harmon  next  spring." 

John  answered  him, — 

'  "  Harmon  seeks  a  sort  of  servant  who  will  stint,  and 
spare,  and  obey ;  I,  a  helper,  friend.  He  asks  your 
daughter  out  of  selfishness ;  I,  because  she  is  —  'Lis- 
beth." 

"  There's  things  more  important  than  happiness,  an' 
I  hope  this  disappointment  will  tend  to  your  good." 

The  squire  stepped  forth,  saying,  — 

"  Thomas  Wilson,  what  I  hear  concerns  both  law  and 


Mr.  Wilson  Grinds  His  Grist  209 

conscience.  Suppose  she  marries  Harmon,  she  must 
promise  to  love  him.  She  does  not.  She  cannot.  Do 
you  know  what  that  promise  is  called  in  law  ?  Per- 
jury, —  a  State-prison  offence.  She  will  make  no  such 
oath." 

He  took  John's  hand,  and  said,  — 

"  Elizabeth,  come  to  me,"  and  the  girl  moved  wonder- 
ingly  to  him. 

"John  Mayhew,"  said  he,  "do  you  love  my  niece, 
and  will  you  make  open  declaration  of  it  here  ? " 

"  I  do  love  her,  and  will  avow  it  anywhere  so  long  as 
I  live." 

"  Elizabeth,  what  do  you  answer  in  this  presence  ?  " 

The  reply  was  very  tremulous,  but  there  was  no  un- 
certainty in  it. 

"  My  father  knows  I  have  promised  to  be  John  May- 
he  w's  wife,  and  I  mean  to  keep  my  word." 

"  'Lisbeth  !  'Lisbeth  !  you  shall  not,  you  never  shall. 
Give  her  to  me,  William  Baker/' 

"Wait." 

"  I  won't  wait.     She's  my  gal,  she  ain't  of  age." 

"Be  quiet,  Thomas,  for  you  shall  listen.  There 
should  be  publishment  of  marriage  banns,  so,  in  this 
unaccustomed  manner,  I  announce  the  intention  of 
marriage  between  these  two  persons,"  laying  the  girl's 
hand  in  her  lover's,  who  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

The  great  dignity  and  baronial  spirit  of  the  squire 
first  controlled  Mr.  Wilson,  and  the  sovereign  authority 


210  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

of  the  last  move  stunned  him,  but  he  burst  loose  from 
it,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Every  syllable  you've  spoke  comes  to  nothin'.  I, 
'Lisbeth's  father,  tell  you  to  give  my  gal  back  to  me. 
Her  promise  ain't  no  good  'thout  my  consent." 

Mayhew  held  him  back  with  one  arm  long  enough  to 
say,— 

"  Hear  me,  Mr.  Wilson.  For  the  most  part  I  respect 
you,  and  my  worst  wish  is  that  a  change  to  brighter 
hope  may  be  near  you,  and  the  old  fashion  of  bitterness 
be  done  away.  My  conscience  disallows  my  taking  your 
child  against  your  will.  I  am  going  away,  but  I  shall 
return  for  my  own.  When  you  send  for  me,  I  will 
come ;  till  then  I  am  obedient  to  the  command  of  sep- 
aration, because  God  has^  bestowed  on  you  such  exceed- 
ing grace  as  to  make  you  father  to  this  girl.  Here, 
freely  I  return  this  treasure,  which  one  day  you  will 
gladly  restore,"  and  bowing,  he  went  out. 

At  first  Mr.  Wijson  insisted  that  'Lisbeth  should  go 
home  with  himself,  but  on  reflection  he  concluded  to  let 
her  stay,  she  being  safe  anywhere,  for  the  youth  would 
keep  his  word,  that  he  knew. 

John  spent  the  whole  next  day  at  the  squire's,  and 
toward  sunset  gravely,  tenderly,  spoke  good-bys  to  the 
family,  then  asked  'Lisbeth  to  walk  with  him  to  the  top 
of  Thurlow  Hill ;  and  so,  in  the  golden  glory  of  a  Novem- 
ber sunset,  those  two  took  their  way  down  the  village 
street,  past  the  Emerson  house,  across  the  brook,  and 


Mr.  Wilson  Grinds  His  Grist  %  211 

climbed  the  long,  steep,  stony  hill,  in  silence  all  the  way. 
Only  after  they  passed  the  houses  he  took  her  hand  and 
kept  it. 

Upon  the  level  summit,  silent  still,  they  put  off  the 
parting  for  a  brief  space,  smothering  their  grief  and 
summoning  courage  for  the  final  sacrifice.  Every  fea- 
ture of  that  exquisite  landscape  stamped  itself  upon  their 
memories  for  all  time,  so  curiously  does  the  mind  grasp 
at  surroundings,  seeking  to  cheat  the  pain  of  coming 
distress.  Below,  far  down,  narrow,  passing  from  sight 
among  Campton  hills,  spread  the  bronze  green  valley  of 
the  Pemigewassett,  the  winding  gray-blue  river  wander- 
ing now  hither,  now  yon,  through  its  entire  length.  On 
the  high  bluff  across  the  meadows  smoke  curled  from 
the  stately  Livermore  mansion ;  and  on  the  nearer  side, 
the  lovely  hamlet  of  Plymouth  twinkled  its  first  even- 
ing lights  upon  the  slope,  a  perfect  jewel  set  on  the 
finger  of  the  hills. 

More  than  a  score  of  dwellings  straggled  along  Main 
Street  and  up  Haverhill  pike.  On  a  little  hillock  front- 
ing the  village  green,  Holmes  Academy  uplifted  its 
white  spire,  and  the  blunt  belfry  of  the  court  house 
marked  a  famous  arena  on  which  Webster,  Sullivan, 
Smith,  Mason,  and  their  princely  compeers  waged 
mighty  forensic  warfare. 

Nearly  a  mile  up  the  Haverhill  road,  crowning  Ward 
Hill,  the  old  Congregational  church  rose  like  an  un- 
armed two-story  fort,  bare,  dominant,  solid. 


212  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Around  on  every  hand  the  cool  bluish  hills  uplifted, 
towering  rank  on  rank,  even  to  the  horizon's  utmost 
verge,  melting  into  misty  outline  beyondx  where  Osceola 
caps  Campton  peaks. 

Black  and  Welch,  Fisher  and  Tecumseh,  were  mated 
by  farther  summits.  They  saw  Franconia  Notch  cleft 
through  buttressed  granite,  and  forever  warded  by  that 
calm,  unanswering,  awful  Face,  sculptured  by  Almighty 
God  upon  the  mountain's  topmost  cliff. 

Behind  those  peaks  the  long  whale  back  of  Mount 
Washington  was  hidden,  and  both  round  about  them 
and  behind  stood  their  mighty  brethren  of  the  White 
Hills.  The  ledgy  spur  of  Thurlow  Hill  screened 
Moosehillock's  graceful  dome.  The  far-off  summits 
were  silvery  gray;  nearer  the  hills  still  burned  with 
late  autumn  fires,  or  melted  into  gold  in  sunny  nooks, 
while  the  valley  slept  and  dreamed  between. 

Not  till  lengthening  shadows  turned  to  certain  dusk 
over  the  village,  and  messengers  of  evening  on  red  and 
gold  and  heavy  purple  pinions  flew  upward  from  the 
departed  sun,  did  they  put  into  words  the  thoughts  that 
swelled  their  aching  hearts.  She  smiled  hopelessly  up 
at  him,  and  there  was  a  quivering  cadence  of  despair  in' 
his  voice,  — 

"  It  is  almost  dark,  dear  soul,  and  you  must  go. 
'Lisbeth,  'Lisbeth,  my  heart  is  breaking  for  you  and 
for  me." 

She  was  silent,  and  he  stumbled  on  brokenly,  — 


Mr.  Wilson  Grinds  His  Grist  213 

"  All  I  have  lived  and  prayed  for  will  be  taken  from 
me  here,  and  yet  my  heaviest  sorrow  is  for  you.  What 
will  you  do  ?  0  'Lisbeth,  what  can  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  can  be  true  to  you,  John." 

"  You  are  my  very  betrothed,  and  we  have  spent  this 
day  together,"  then  he  faced  away  from  her  only  to 
return,  saying  fiercely,  — 

"  I  cannot  lose  you,  and  I  will  not." 

"Do  you  doubt  me,  John?"  The  question  was 
proudly  phrased. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  love,  forgive  me.  I  have  no  distrust  of 
you,  but  an  awful  fear  of  what  you  may  endure.  They 
will  coax,  insist,  demand,  threaten,  — disinherit,  —  then 
what  ?  " 

"I  shall  withhold  my  lips  from  lying,  and  my  soul 
from  sacrilege." 

"  If  the  last  happens,  may  I  come  for  you  ?  Do  con- 
sent so  far." 

"  I  cannot  tell.  You  must  trust  me,  John.  Nothing 
is  better  than  truth.  We  shall  be  in  the  same  world. 
We  can  sometimes  look  into  each  other's  faces  without 
shame  too,  do  you  hear,  dear  —  proudly,  without  shame." 

He  was  brushing  the  wavy  hair  back  fondly,  and  she 
continued  self-contained,  — 

"  Once  for  all,  John  Mayhew,  successful  or  unfortu- 
nate, rich  or  poor,  living  or  dead,  I  love  you  only, 
always ;  neither  shall  I  listen  to  any  other  while  I 
live." 


214  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Lisbeth/'  he  answered,  "  my  truth  and  manhood  are 
pledged  to  you.  No  oath  can  add  one  iota  to  our  second 
betrothal."  Then,  after  a  moment,  "  Go  now,  beloved, 
for  the  valley  darkens  ;  I  will  watch  you  down  the  hill." 

The  hour  of  supreme  renunciation  was  come,  the  sac- 
rifice was  completed,  but  the  sorrow  overmastered  tears. 
Reaching  up,  she  took  his  face  in  both  her  hands  and 
gazed  earnestly  on  each"  feature,  graving  the  image  on 
her  heart,  then  drawing  his  head  down,  she  kissed  him. 
For  one  brief  moment  he  gathered  her  in  his  arms,  arid 
rained  kisses  on  her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  hands,  the  next 
they  walked  apart  with  pain  so  awful  that  they  both 
were  dumb.  John  watched  the  swaying  figure,  bent  by 
woe,  as  it  stumbled  over  loose  stones,  saw  late  golden- 
rod  leaning  across  the  gurgling  waters  of  a  wayside  run 
and  touching  her  blue  dress,  marked  with  bitter  pride 
how  resolutely  her  face  was  turned  from  him,  till  a 
curve  carried  her  behind  a  long  row  of  alder  bushes  that 
reached  to  the  village  street. 

A  loud  clatter  of  hoofs  among  rolling  pebbles,  a  heavy 
whip-crack,  and  an  eight-horse  stage  laden  with  twelve 
passengers,  piles  of  bandboxes,  and  trunks  with  handles 
and  studded  with  nails,  rolled  by  him. 

On  the  box  sat  a  young  man,  smooth-faced,  bearing  a 
master's  look  in  the  clear,  deep  blue  eyes,  with  muscles 
like  strong  cords,  and  brown  as  a  berry.  It  was  a  hard 
hill,  the  wheel  horses  could  not  possibly  hold  back  such 
a  load  ;  so  he  gathered  up  the  reins  in  an  iron  grip, 


Mr.  Wilson  Grinds  His  Grist  215 

flicked  his  long  whip  close  to  the  leaders'  ears,  and  the 
whole  team  sprang  on  a  dead  run  down  the  hill.  Pres- 
ently he  heard  a  mellow  horn,  and  knew  the  stage  was 
clattering  up  to  the  tavern  door. 

In  the  same  breath  the  King  and  his  dogs  whisked 
down  the  ledges  from  the  pine  woods  on  his  left. 

"  Hello,  John,  ain't  that  bustin'  ?  Don't  Jim  Larig- 
don  know  a  thing  or  tew  'bout  stagin'  ?  Well,  I  guess  ! 
I've  seen  that  other  young  feller,  Harden,  dew  the  same 
thing.  I  reckon  ev'ry  hoss  them  boys  lays  a  rein  over 
knows  'em.  Seems  to  me  they  send  word  'long  the 
ribbins,  else  how  could  they  go  lick-e-ty-split  that  way 
'thout  killin'  the  whole  bilin',  an'  scatterin'  the  stage 
for  kin'lin'  wood.  Goin'  home,  ain't  ye  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  I  see  your  uncle  carryin'  your  traps ;  so,  bein'  only 
t'other  side  the  hill,  I  run  'roun'  to  walk  'long.  Pore 
comp'ny,  the  dogs  an'  me,  but  p'raps  we'll  shorten  the 
road  a  little." 

"  You  are  kind,  and  make  the  journey  pleasanter." 

"  Come,  pups,  where  be  ye  ?  We're  goin'  home,  an' 
we  don't  want  no  runnin'  roun'." 

Deaf  immediately  to  all  blandishments  of  the  woods, 
they  settled  into  a  "  dog-trot "  ahead  of  their  master. 
The  King  had  been  lying  on  pine  needles,  or  sitting  on 
a  rock  for  two  hours.  He  saw  the  pair  come  up  the 
hill,  and  one  descend  it  in  grievous  fashion.  The  sight 
had  drawn  some  tears  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  and  he 


216  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

told  the  dogs,  then  and  there,  that  he  would  "  tend  tew 
things,  if  we  never  see  another  wile-cat,  nor  track  a  bear 
agin." 

He  hitched  up  the  empty  game-bag,  and  slouched 
along,  evidently  uneasy,  till  John,  remarking  it,  said,  — 

«  Well,  Uncle  David  ?  " 

« I'm  thinkin',  John." 

"  So  I  see." 

"  I  dunno  how  tew  begin ;  where's  them  pesky  dogs  ?  " 

"  Eight  here ;  under  foot  almost." 

"  So  they  be ;  how  I  dew  wish  Nabby  was  here." 

In  spite  of  all,  John  smiled. 

"  You  see,  she  isn't,  and  you  are  not  afraid  of  me."     • 

"No,  sir,  I  ain't.  When  it  comes  tew  bein'  feared, 
there's  nothin'  in  the  woods  or  outen  'em  that  I'm  scairt 
on;  on'y  this  seems  kinder  meddlin',  somehow,"  giving 
his  game-pouch  another  pull. 

"  You  never  could  do  that,  Uncle  David.  Does  this 
matter  concern  me  ?  " 

"  Some  it  does,  an'  some  it  don't,  but  I'm  most  wor- 
ried 'bout  t'other  one." 

«  What  one  ?  " 

"  Her,"  jerking  his  thumb  backward  toward  the 
hamlet. 

"  Mr.  King  !  what  is  it  ?     Any  new  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  guess  she's  got  'nuff,  poor  gal,  an'  there  ain't  any 
more  comin'  if  I  can  help  it." 

John  grasped  the  King's  hand,  who  made  a  great  to- 


At  the  Tavern  217 

do,  calling  to  his  dogs ;  but  before  they  reached  Mr. 
Lane's  he  had,  by  dint  of  much  bad  grammar,  delicately 
used,  given  John  to  understand  that  his  eye  would  be 
swift  to  see,  and  if  it  became  necessary,  he  should 
readily  shoulder  his  gun,  and  carry  peltry  to  Boston 
markets.  And  the  lover  was  comforted ;  for  the  tides 
of  youth  set  strongly,  filling  up  many  a  footprint  of 
care  in  hopefully  shifting  sands,  whereon  they  ebb  and 
flow.  And  'Lisbeth  came  to  supper  much  as  usual,  only 
a  faint,  wistful,  pathetic  aspect  had  come  into  her  eyes 
that  would  never  depart.  It  is  thus  that  shadows  grow 
in  beloved  faces,  only  to  be  swept  away  when  the 
majestic  Healer,  Death,  smooths  from  unsensing  linea-* 
ments  the  cruel  furrows  drawn  by  ploughshares  of 
pride  and  thoughtlessness. 


CHAPTER   XXI 
HOYT'S  TAVERN 

HOYT'S  tavern  was  an  old  hostelry  down  by  the  foot 
of  the  Pond,  famous  as  Partridge's  before  the  first  red 
stage  came  up  the  turnpike.  The  tavernkeeper  was 
known  as  Squire  Hoyt  or  Uncle  Abe,  just  as  it  hap- 
pened. He  was  a  small,  wiry  man ;  keen,  blue-eyed, 
and  fairish-haired  ;  stern  on  occasion,  kindly,  thoughtful. 


218  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

quick  of  wit.  He  said,  l  Jess  so,  jess  so,  sir,'  most  amia- 
bly, but  a  sham  fared  hardly  at  his  hands.  Many  a 
poor  boy  or  man  tramping  northward  to  settle  wild  land 
was  freely  supplied  with  the  tavern's  best,  not  mention- 
ing a  generous  supply  of  food  to  take  along  in  the  morn- 
ing, because,  Uncle  Abe  explained,  "  the  poor  devil  had 
a  thunderin'  hard  row  to  hoe  'thout  sleepin'  out  nights 
and  half  starvin'  on  the  way." 

His  enormous  barns  were  stuffed  full  of  sweet  hay 
and  oats  grown  on  the  hillside.  Six  horses  harnessed 
to  a  stage  pranced  on  the  great  signboard,  and  under- 
neath was  inscribed,  "A.  P.  Hoyt,  Stage  Tavern." 
»There  was  comfort  even  in  the  outside  of  that  yellow, 
two-storied,  piazzaed,  rambling,  airy  house,  showing  dim- 
ity curtains  at  guest-chamber  windows;  and  a  roaring 
fire,  from  a  four-foot  rock  maple  backlog  and  forestick, 
filled  in  between  with  cleft  wood,  threw  its  sparkling 
welcome  out  into  the  chill  darkness  through  the  windows 
of  the  big  main  room. 

Similar  inns  dotted  all  turnpikes  and  roads  through 
the  State,  at  distances  of  from  three  to  seven  miles, 
seldom  more,  lest  drivers  should  lose  an  hour  or  two 
before  sunset,  in  order  to  be  sure  of  some  harborage  at 
nightfall. 

Teams  were  made  up  of  oxen  alone,  horses  by  them- 
selves, or  of  oxen  hitched  to  cart  and  sled  tongues, 
horses  leading. 

Those  going  "  down  below  "  dragged  pine  masts  to  the 


At  the  Tavern  219 

coast,  hemlock  to  tan- vats,  and  the  "  truck  and  dicker  " 
from  country  stores  to  exchange  for  merchandise.  Travel- 
ling buyers,  who  went  from  farm  to  farm  picked  up 
produce,  flaxseed,  small  peltry,  the  overplus  of  looms, 
homemade  hose,  called  "feetin',"  and  whatever  was 
buyable,  and  carted  it  all  "down  below." 

Every  few  miles  that  serious  drama  of  the  road  was 
brightened  by  merry  andrews  on  red  carts,  the  wags  of 
muster-fields  many  times  multiplied.  They  halted,  jest- 
ing and  gossipy,  at  hill  farmhouses ;  exchanged  blue 
calico,  beads,  combs,  and  what  not  for  rags,  eggs,  or  odd 
yards  of  linen,  and  wore  the  jester's  cap  and  bells  down 
the  turnpike  to  market. 

Keturning  teams  brought  sugar,  lamps,  oil,  dyestuff, 
school-books,  tobacco,  snuff,  not  to-  speak  of  the  great 
staple,  —  liquors.  Everything,  from  crewels  to  powder- 
horns  and  ploughshares,  were  hauled  over  drifts  in 
winter,  through  dust  in  summer,  along  those  rugged 
lines  of  commerce.  Teamsters  were  resolute  and  trusty 
men.  Lawyers  journeying  from  one  country  seat  to 
another,  people  paying  visits,  those  going  down  to  fac- 
tories or  returning  from  them,  made  a  large  part  of 
travellers  by  stage,  chaise,  or  on  horseback. 

The  latter  classes  occupied  guest  chambers ;  but 
teamsters,  as  a  rule,  made  a  common  dormitory  of  the 
public-room,  saving  each  his  ninepence,  less  or  more, 
and  insuring  warm  quarters  to  himself. 

Each  driver  helped  take  care  of  his  own  horses  or 


220  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

oxen,  then  threw  his  bearskin  over  his  shoulders,  took  a 
little  trunk  containing  food,  and  went  into  the  tavern 
with  a  nod  and  good-evening  to  the  landlord. 

Mrs.  Lane  brought  John  down  to  Hoyt's  the  evening 
before  he  started  for  Boston.  Just  after  they  entered, 
a  horn  merrily  trumpeted,  and  the  Haverhill  stage 
banged  and  clattered  up  to  the  friendly  doors.  It 
brought  a  few  passengers,  who,  with  many  "  All's  "  and 
"  Oh's  "  and  "  Bless  me's,"  dropped  down  and  crawled 
out  and  hurried  in  to  the  fire. 

John  and  his  aunt  went  to  Mrs.  Hoyt's  sitting-room 
till  strangers  were  fitly  housed.  Pete,  the  general 
utility  boy,  ran  up  the  stairs  with  luggage,  stirred  fires, 
and  jumped  lively  for  an  ordered  flip. 

Strangers  at  old-fashioned  taverns  were  guests  indeed. 
Those  at  Squire  Hoyt's  descended  at  bell-call  to  find  the 
landlord  and  his  wife  waiting  to  preside  at  the  bounti- 
ful table,  with  a  roaring  fire  at  one  side  of  it,  and  two 
beautiful  bright  oil  lamps  upon  it.  John  and  Mrs.  Lane 
shared  the  meal,  the  innkeeper  specially  desiring  John 
should  be  acquainted  with  a  guest,  young  Quincy  of 
Boston. 

Meantime,  men  in  the  great  public  room  warmed 
themselves  and  laid  their  supper  each  upon  his  trunk 
cover.  As  the  last  men  were  about  finishing  the  meal 
one  broke  a  stick  from  the  woodpile,  whittled  it  to  a 
point,  speared  a  piece  of  cheese,  and  toasted  it  before 
the  fire. 


At  the  Tavern  221 

"  My  pie  is  almost  froze.  I'll  fix  it,"  said  a  grizzled 
man. 

He  stripped  a  piece  of  birch  bark  from  a  log,  put 
his  pie  on  it,  and  laid  it  down  on  the  hearth,  close  to 
hot  embers.  The  bark  curled  over  it,  making  a  warm 
oven. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  that  kink  ?  "  inquired  a  young 
man  just  from  the  private  table.  "  Give  me  a  bit  of 
pie,  won't  you  ?  I  want  to  try  it." 

"  Dew,  tuck  the  bark  up  close." 

The  youth  attempted  it,  and  jumped  back,  exclaim- 
ing; - 

"  Phew  !     Blazes  !     I've  blistered  my  finger." 

The  graybeard  eyed  him  with  a  you'll-know-better- 
next-time  nod  as  he  said  deliberately,  — 

"Experunce  mostly  hurts.  Nex'  time  keep  the  bark 
"tween  your  hand  and  the  bricks." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man ;  "  I  was  a 
simpleton  not  to  ask  help." 

His  inquisitor  regarded  him  kindly,  saying,  — 

"  I  took  you  for  a  big-feeliii'  upstart,  but  I'm  mistook. 
AVho  be  ye  ?  " 
*  "  My  name  is  Quincy." 

"  Not  from  hereabouts,  I  guess." 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Boston  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Buyin'  sunthin',  I  s'pose  ?  " 


222  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Yes,  lumber  and  masts ;  but  after  this  trip  I  shall 
only  be  here  occasionally." 

"  Sorry." 

"  See  here,  Hobert,  gimme  a  piece  of  that  cheese," 
called  a  man  across  the  fireplace.  "  Swap  even  ?  "  he 
inquired,  holding  a  doughnut  on  his  jack-knife. 

Quincy  drew  up  to  the  table  where  one  and  another 
were  reading  the  weekly  papers.  Every  little  while 
a  man  read  a  paragraph  aloud,  and  immediately  several 
round  about  the  checkerplayers  near  by  took  it  up,  and 
discussion  spread  over  the  room,  till  even  those  who 
traded  jack-knives  and  "  swapped  yarns "  by  the  fire 
entered  the  spirited  contest. 

"  Say,  mister,"  said  a  youth  who  came  in  on  the  stage, 
squatting  before  him  they  called  Parker,  "  have  you 
lived  with  Indians  ?  " 

"  S '  posen  I  have  "  ? 

"  Can't  you  tell  us  a  story  ?  " 

"Yarns  ain't  in  my  line,  youngster;  'sides,  I  hain't 
lived  with  'em." 

"  Oh  !  "  The  expression  voiced  all  a  boy's  disappoint- 
ment ;  and  there  was  a  world  of  courtesy  in  his  look  and 
manner  which  softened  Parker,  and  he  inquired,  — 

"  Where'd  you  come  from  ?  " 

"Derryfield." 

"  Where  you  goin'  tew  ? 

"Hanover." 

"  Hey  !  college,  I  reckon." 


At  the  Tavern  223 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Lucky.     Where'd  you  find  the  money  ? ' 

''•  Earned  it  working  and  keeping  school." 

"  Did  ?  Well,  I've  been  'mong  Injuns,  buyin'  pelts  an' 
gimcracks,  boy." 

"  Will  you  tell  us  a  story  ?  " 

"  Mebbe ;  I'll  see  if  I  can  ketch  on  to  one." 

"Story,  story!"  shouted  the  men.  Quincy  put  his 
hand  up. 

"  Hold  on,  wait  a  moment ;  let's  have  some  coffee  first. 
It's  my  treat  for  the  good  fellowship  that  has  followed 
me  all  up  and  down  this  State." 

"  Good ;  thankee ;  good,"  echoed  all  over  the  room. 

"  Here,  Uncle  Abe,  coffee  for  twenty.  Will  you  take 
a  mug,  sir  ?  "  to  John,  who  then  entered. 

"  Thank  you ;  yes,  I  shall  enjoy  one." 

"  Twenty-one,  then." 

"  Here,  Pete,  "  called  the  innkeeper  to  the  chore-boy, 
"  run  to  the  kitchen  an'  tell  'em  to  fill  two  big  pitchers 
with  smoking  hot  coffee,  an'  bring  mugs  from  the  bar. 
Mr.  Quincy,  I'm  glad  you  an'  John  Mayhew  have  met. 
Don't  lose  sight  of  him,  an'  tell  your  father  he's  the  best 
we  ever  raise." 

The  door  into  the  entry  slowly  opened,  and  a  ragged, 
weary,  very  dejected  boy,  perhaps  sixteen  years  old, 
pushed  half  way  in,  and  hesitated  miserably. 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  exclaimed  Squire  Hoyt ;  "  what's 
this  ?  " 


224  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  May  I  warm  me  a  minit  ?  "  pleaded  the  boy. 

"  Come  right  straight  to  the  fire,"  said  Mr.  Hoyt,  tak- 
ing the  shivering  lad  through  an  open  way.  "There, 
warm  yourself.  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Jim  Sawyer.'' 

"  Where's  your  father  ?  " 

"Dead,"  and  his  lip  quivered;  so  did  many  others  of 
those  crowding  round. 

"  Where's  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Tew  home." 

"  Near  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  up  tew  Bath." 

"  Where've  you  been  ?  " 

"  Down  below." 

"  Seeking  your  fortune,  hey  ?  'Pon  my  soul,  you  look 
as  if  you'd  found  it !  Got  'nuff  on't  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  an'  I'm  try  in'  tew  git  back  home." 

"  Good !  Jess  so,  jess  so  ;  that's  right,  my  boy,  an'  I 
s'pose  you've  tramped  all  the  way." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Pretty  likely  you'll  find  your  fortune  where  you  left 
it,  —  with  your  mother ;  you  ain't  cut  out  for  hustlin'. 
Thankee,  Quincy ;  here,  Jim,  take  a  stiff  swig  of  this  hot 
coffee.  Thanks,  men ;  mother'll  put  some  things  in  jour 
pack's,"  he  said,  as  one  and  another  helped  the  boy  to 
wholesome  food.  "There,  now,  set  still  in  the  corner 
an'  toast  yourself ;  then  Pete'll  take  you  up  to  bed : 
you'll  have  to  rest  a  day  or  so." 


At  the  Tavern  225 

"  An'  I'll  take  him  to  Haverhill,  an'  get  a  teamster  to 
take  him  home,"  said  Harden ;  "  he's  got  the  makin'  of 
a  man  in  him,  for  he  knows  enough  to  go  back  and  begin 
new,"  nodding  encouragingly  toward  the  happy  boy  al- 
ready half  asleep. 

"  Story,  story  !"  cried  they  all. 

"  I'm  off  the  trail  of  Injuns,"  said  he  they  called 
Parker,  "  but  I  remember  this  ;  it  happened  tew  me." 

Indian  stories  went  round  while  they  drank  their 
coffee,  and  then  followed  an  incident  possible  nowhere 
else  in  the  wide  world. 

A  man,  evidently  a  conceited  schoolmaster,  had  grad- 
ually drawn  his  chair  midway  the  group,  and  airily  in- 
terrupted and  embellished  narrative  and  legend  with 
Latin*  phrases  and  remarks  as  to  what  he  heard  in  col- 
lege. Those  men  had  'great  esteem  for  learning,  but 
none  for  a  coxcomb. 

"  Uncle  Abe  "  had  turned  a  quizzical  eye  towards  him 
several  times.  He  drank  his  coffee,  premising  it  with 
an  astonishing  flourish  and  bow  to  young  Quincy,  then 
pulled  out  a  pipe  and  filled  it. 

"  I  like  live  embers  best  for  tew  light  my  pipe,"  said 
one,  dipping  his  filled  pipe-bowl  into  a  bed  of  them. 

"  A  live  coal's  the  thing,"  corrected  the  prig ;  "  in 
short,  one  may  call  it  a  desideratum;  yes,  truly  a  de- 
sideratum." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Parker,  "  'tis.  I  want  some  ;  gimme 
the  tongs,"  and  with  exquisite  mimicry  he  broke  a  coal 
for  his  own  pipe. 


226  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

The  coxcomb,  unmindful  of  the  laugh  which  followed, 
finished  smoking,  and  called  for  a  glass  of  flip.  The 
landlord  was  already  incensed,  and  when  he  swung  his 
glass  swaggeringly  before  he  drank,  remarking,  — 

"  Dum  vivimus  vivamus,  Squire  Hoyt,"  the  squire 
.turned  quickly,  replying,  — 

"Ah,  jess  so,  jess  so,  sir;  an'  dumb  fool,  too,  sir." 

During  the  derisive  mirth  of  approval  two  young 
men  reached  up  over  the  fireplace  and  took  some  fiddles 
down.  They  scraped  them  into  tune  with  an  old  tun- 
ing-fork, and  played  all  music  upon  them  from  trill  .to 
chant,  from  "  Virginia  Eeel "  to  "  Old  Hundred."  The 
guests  sang  when  they  knew  the  lines,  and  listened  to 
the  rest.  Finally  one  said,  — 

"  Can  you  play  and  sing  '  Boston  Tea,'  boys  ?  *that's 
the  song  to-night.  One  of  us  lives  there,  an'  another's 
goin'.  New  Hampshire's  mighty  good  tew  Boston." 

"  She's  tew  good  all  roun'/'  remarked  a  quiet  man ; 
"an'  now  the  boys  air  tram  pin'  out  West,  wherever 
that  is.  My  boy's  gone,  though  there  ain't  nothin'  out 
there  but  fever'n  ager,  Injuns  an'  rattlesnakes,  fur's  I 
know." 

"  Tune  up ;  sing,"  ordered  the  leader.  " '  The  Boston 
Teaparty,'  you  all  know  it ;  sing." 

Hurrah,  my  boys,  come  sing  the  tale 

Of  the  Indian  hordes  with  me, 
Who  climbed  the  sides  of  the  Dartmouth  ship 

And  made  that  Boston  tea. 


At  the  Tavern  227 

They  scooped  it  up  by  chest  and  box, 

That  herb  of  keen  delight, 
And  out  of  the  stern  and  over  the  bow 

Flung  it  with  all  their  might. 

They  hoaxed  the  dames  of  high  degree, 

Who  waited  beside  the  urns, 
And  gossipped,  and  scowled,  and  nodded,  till 

Their  lamps  had  ceased  to  burn. 

Then  wide  flew  the  doors;  each  ruffled  lord, 

In  velvet  and  powdered  queue, 
Cried,  Madam,  the  tea  has  shipped  a  sea, 

Not  a  half  pound  left  for  you. 

But  'twas  a  luscious  drink  we  made 

King  George's  redcoats  gay; 
A  harbor  full  of  home-brewed  tea, 

Way  down  in  Boston  Bay. 

The  clock  struck  nine,  and  the  tired  men  prepared  for 
rest. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  ride  with  me  ?  I  shall  be  pleased 
if  you  will,"  said  Quincy  to  John. 

"  I  must  be  there  Saturday." 

"  So  must  I." 

« 

"  If  you're  goin',  John,"  interrupted  Marden,  "  I  sh'd 
like  to  take  you  fur  as  I  go,  darned  if  I  shouldn't ! " 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  both  of  you ;  I'll  go  to  Concord 
with  Mr.  Marden,  and  gladly  the  rest  of  the  way  with 
you,  Mr.  Quincy." 

"  All  right,  we  meet  at  Gasses',  good-night,"  said  Mr. 
Quincy.  Pete  blew  up  a  coal  and  lighted  a  candle,  pre- 


228  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

ceding  the  young  man  to  a  warm,  clean  chamber,  very 
fresh  and  comfortable,  having  a  large  braided  rug  be- 
side the  bed. 

John  lingered  some  time  with  his  aunt ;  it  was  hard 
to  say  a  last  good-night  to  the  faithful  woman  who  had 
mothered  him  even  as  one  of  her  own  sons.  He  felt 
sure  her  heart  ached ;  but  she  was  brave,  and  helped  him 
away  to  save  grief  for  himself  and  'Lisbeth. 

In  the  great  bar-room  brawny  men  were  passing  into 
dreamland  on  soft  beds  of  skins,  with  their  feet  to  a 
smouldering  fire,  the  burning  logs  being  covered  with 
ashes  so  they  might  char  through  the  night  and  open 
like  the  heart  of  a  coal-pit  in  the  morning.  The  men 
had  well  earned  the  comfort  they  enjoyed ;  and  besides 

that,  they  were  very  interesting  people,  for  there  was 

• 

scarcely  a  common  man,  one  who  thought  of  himself  and 
lived  solely  for  himself,  among  them.  They  were  sons 
of  heroes  who  marched  from  Bunker  Hill  to  battlefield 
after  battlefield  till  the  Revolution  ended ;  who  melted  in 
the  fierce  heats  of  southern  suns  ;  whose  feet  were  bare 
and  bleeding  ii\the  snows  of  Valley  Forge ;  who  suffered 
where  New  Hampshire's  stainless  knight,  the  intrepid 
and  chivalric  Scammel,  led.  Before  them  stars  and 
orders  paled,  behind  them  a  new  empire,  resting  on 
moveless  foundations  of  granite  character,  lifted  its 
radiant  forehead  to  the  heavens.  Moreover,  themselves 
were  heroes ;  for  they  went  steadily  on,  bearing  their 
common  burdens  of  homely  duty  with  a  kingly  spirit, 


At  Home  229 

alert  and  zealous  in  all  affairs  of  church  and  state,  full 
of  love  and  hope  and  courage  for  their  country,  proud 
as  princes  of  their  lineage,  studying  how  to  make  their 
priceless  heritage  blossom  as  the  rose  for  their  children's 
children,  ay,  and  the  oppressed  of  all  lands. 

Each  of  those  men  was  sovereign ;  in  each  throbbed  and 
bounded  the  pulses  of  regal  power;  each  was  of  royal 
mettle  he  inherited  directly  from  the  King  of  kings, 
and  owned  no  vassalage  nor  uncovered  his  head  to  any, 
save  God  alone. 

In  the  dusky  dawn  Mrs.  Lane  bade  John  good-by 
through  some  tears  that  would  fall,  despite  her  resolute 
will ;  and  from  the  driver's  seat  by  Mr.  Marden  he  looked 
sorrowing  back  to  her,  and  from  her  to  the  hills  beyond 
her  with  terrible  heart-ache  for  one  he  could  not  see. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

AT    HOME 

THE  next  Sabbath,  when  Mr.  Wilson  drove  into  the 
yard  from  meeting,  'Lisbeth  sat  beside  him,  holding 
Dorothy.  While  the  peaked  wagon  was  lumbering  up 
to  the  broad,  flat  doorstofie,  Mrs.  Wilson  discovered  a 
new  expression,  an  intangible  shadow,  apparent  rather 
,  to  her  heart  than  sense,  which  had  come  over  her  child 
since  she  gayly  rode  away  to  Plymouth. 


230  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Mr.  Wilson  had  confided  nothing  to  his  wife.  She 
only  felt  'Lisbeth  was  not  exactly  'Lisbeth. 

She  could  not  kiss  her  child,  for  Mr.  Wilson  frowned 
on  such  endearments.  She  simply  said,  "  How  be  you, 
'Lisbeth  ?  come  right  in.  Tom  will  take  your  things 
up  to  your  room." 

"  Why,  mother,"  laughed  the  girl,  "  am  I  a  stranger  ? 
— company  invited  to  supper  ?  Tom  better  run  up- 
stairs, though,  for  father  says  Lettice  is  gone  visiting. 
Good-afternoon,  grandma." 

"  How  be  ye,  'Lisbeth  ?  "  responded  that  elect  dame, 
with  a  victorious  wag  of  cap-border  —  Mr.  Wilson  had 
counselled  with  her. 

"  Where  was  the  text,  'Lisbeth  ? "  asked  her  grand- 
mother. The  girl  paused ;  plainly  her  thoughts  had 
wandered  at  church. 

"  Didn't  you  go  tew  meetin'? "  she  demanded  se- 
verely. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Cur'us.  Here's  Tom.  Le's  see  what  he  remembers. 
Tom,  how  many  woodchuck  skins  are  the  Nutter  boys 
tannin'  ?  " 

"  Six,"  he  cried,  amazed  and  delighted. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Counted  'em  on  the  barn  door." 

"  Where  was  the  text  ?  " 

He  quickly  slunk  out  of  the  room;  but  she  gave  a 
piece  of  her  mind  to  'Lisbeth  and  Mrs.  Wilson. 


At  Home  231 

Mr.  Wilson,  coming  in,  paid  no  attention.     He  was 

so  satisfied  at  John's  departure  nothing  could  ruffle  him ; 

• 
but  his  mouth  watered  after   a    sinful  fashion   as   he 

glanced  at  the  table  with  the  supper  upon  it. 

As  for  'Lisbeth,  he  concluded  to  himself  on  the  way 
home  that  he  should  move  very  cautiously  respecting 
Phil. 

After  prayers  that  evening,  after  all  but  her  mother 
had  gone  to  rest,  'Lisbeth  brought  a  low  stool  to  Mrs. 
Wilson's  side,  and  sitting  there  recited  the  simple  story 
of  her  love,  the  scene  at  Mr.  Baker's,  the  command  that 
she  should  marry  Phil. 

"  Can  you  marry  him,  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"No,  mother.  You  know  what  uncle  said,  and  any- 
way, I  could  not.  And,  mother,  you  will  not  let  them 
send  me  from  home.  Promise  me,  oh,  promise  me 
mother  ! " 

The  petition  stirred  Baker  blfiod,  and  she  replied 
spiritedly,  but  solemnly,  — 

"  Hush,  my  daughter !  God  only  shall  take  you  from 
this  house.  Answer  a  good  conscience  to  yourself  and 
him,  and  may  his  peace  remain  with  you  for  evermore." 

Half  an  hour  later  'Lisbeth  fronted  the  little  mirror 
in  her  room,  holding  a  flickering  candle  in  one  hand, 
and  pushing  back  her  wavy  hair  with  the  other,  and 
soliloquized,  — 

"  What  a  funny  old  maid  I  shall  be !  '  Sharp  as  a 
hatchet,'  or  <  holding  her  own,'  people  will  say.  I  will 


232  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

not  grow  crabbed  and  twisted  and  mean-spirited,  please 
God !  It  will  make  no  difference  how  I  look.  I  never 
shall  seem  ugly  to  mother  and  the  children  and  Let- 
tice.  No  one  else  will  —  oh !  " 

A  terrible  possibility  confronted  her.  John  would 
return  once  in  a  while  —  what  then?  Would  he  turn 
from  her  who  relinquished  the  beatitudes  of  life  for 
him  ?  Would  some  young,  fair  girl  trained  in  city 
graces  walk  up  the  stony  road  some  twilight  hour  with 
him? 

Would  they  two  stand  under  the  sweetbrier  at  the 
half-way  mark,  as  he  and  she  had  done  that  perfect 
June  day  not  quite  six  months  agone  ?  She  was  white 
from  her  own  scourging  hand,  and  moaned  to  herself,  — 

"  There  is  but  one  path.  0  Thou  who  wast  forsaken, 
help  me  to  follow  it ! " 

After  a  while  hope  returned ;  and  she  told  herself 
her  lover  would  not  forget,  no,  he  would  not,  and  his 
years  would  keep  even  pace  with  hers.  Then  she 
spoke  again  to  the  figure  in  the  glass,  — 

"  I  know  one  thing,  Elizabeth  Wilson ;  you  will  do 
your  duty.  There  is  to  be  no  shirking  nor  shrinking 
from  hard  stents.  This  is  not  what  you  expected ;  but 
it  is  what  you  have,  and  you  are  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  You  are  not  going  to  be  selfish,  sitting  down  to 
hug  a  sorrow.  You  do  not  constitute  the  whole  world, 
Elizabeth.  Look  around  where  others  need  care.  Yes," 
she  said  aloud,  "  this  is  my  task,  —  faithful  performance 


At  Home  233 

of  duty  towards  my  friends,  my  family,  and  most  of 
all,  dear  love,  towards  you  and  Him  who  made  us  all." 

She  went  down-stairs  next  morning  serene  and  self- 
possessed,  and  the  boys  followed  with  tales  of  beech- 
nutting,  taming  of  colts  from  the  pasture,  trapping,  and 
so  on. 

They  were  telling  how  their  sled  was  iron-shod,  so  it 
would  "  go  like  a  streak,  clear  to  the  medder  brook," 
when  a  decided  step  came  through  the  entry  and  some 
one  opened  the  door. 

"  Why,  Lettice  !  "  they  exclaimed. 

"Mornin',"  said  she;  "I've  come  home.  Mr.  Smart 
brought  me,  —  he's  goin'  tew  Plymouth  tew  court. 
Tried  tew  have  him  come  in,  but  he  couldn't,  'cause 
he's  got  tew  be  at  Plymouth  by  nine  o'clock.  I've  had 
a  good  spell  of  visitin',  an'  enjoyed  it  every  minit." 

"  Is  Lettice  sick  ?  "  inquired  the  old  lady. 

"  Sick  ?  Land  sakes,  no  !  but  it's  growin'  cold,  an' 
I've  warmed  all  the  spare  feather-beds  from  Hebron 
tew  Bristol.  I  don't  want  no  more  on't ;  not  at 
present." 

She  caught  her  bandbox  by  the  twisted  string  of 
its  coarse  sack,  and  bustled  to  her  room,  returning 
soon,  ready  for  work. 

"  I  couldn't  stay  any  longer  no  ways,  'Lisbeth,  'cause 
it's  a'most  time  for  you  tew  go  tew  the  'Cademy." 

"I  am  not  going." 

"  What  ?  "     She  held   the  coffee-pot  with  one  hand, 


234  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

ready  to  put  the  coffee  in,  but  dropped  the  measuring 
spoon  back  into  the  box.  "  What  ?  " 

"We  want  'Lisbeth  to  home  a  while,"  remarked  Mr. 
Wilson  from  the  fireplace  corner. 

"  Well  I  never  !     What  air  you  goin'  tew  dew  ?  " 

"  The  flax  and  woollen  rolls  are  ready  for  spinning, 
and  I  want  to  do  it  all ;  mother  will  trust  me  with  the 
bird's-eye  linen." 

"  Elizabeth  Wilson !  there's  a  web  of  bird's-eye  for 
tablecloths,  an'  one  for  towels,  as  your  mother  calc'lates, 
full  cloth  for  your  father  an'  the  boys,  flannel  for  gowns, 
an'  a  frockin'  web  —  nigh  on  tew  hundred  yards  tew 
spin  for,  'sides  stockin'  yarn;  an'  there's  knittin'  an' 
sewin'." 

"  We  can  knit  and  sew  after  my  stent  of  spinning  and 
weaving  is  done." 

"  You  can't  dew  it,  'Lisbeth,  never  in  this  world." 

"  She  may  make  a  web  of  full  cloth  for  the  store,  an' 
buy  what  she's  a  mind  to  with  it,"  said  the  farmer. 

"  Oh,  my,  'Lisbeth !  buy  me  a  jack-knife,"  whispered 
Jack. 

She  smiled  less  at  him  than  from  the  fact  that  all 
roads  to  spare  time  were  closed. 

After  prayers  Lettice  carried  her  own  wheel  into  the 
east  room,  oiled  and  banded  it,  then  brought  an  immense 
bundle  of  rolls  pinned  up  in  a  checked  blanket. 

She  pulled  the  thorn-pins  out,  and  asked  Mrs.  Wilson 
how  fine  wool  she  intended  'Lisbeth  should  spin.  Being 


At  Home  235 

told,  she  selected  a  bunch  of  rolls  of  medium  fine  wool, 
put  it  on  the  roll-pin,  fastened  the  blanket  together,  sent 
Tom  up-stairs  with  it,  and  went  to  washing  without  an- 
other word;  but  her  mind  was  busy  as  a  bee.  After 
dinner  she  looked  into  the  east-room,  saying,  — 

"  My  hard  work  is  done,  Mis'  Wilson,  an'  I  guess  I'll 
put  a  few  little  basketfuls  of  chip-dirt  round  the  laylock 
roots,  if  you  don't  care  ;  they  need  it  'fore  snow  conies." 

Mrs.  Wilson  nodded,  and  she  went  out  contentedly ; 
for  she  felt  something  needed  care,  and  half-bare  roots 
were  better  than  nothing  to  tend.  When  she  heard  of 
John's  departure  she  knew  as  well  as  if  she  had  been 
told  that  an  overturn  of  some  sort  had  occurred,  and  it 
had  more  to  do  with  her  return  than  had  chilly  feather- 
beds.  She  still  felt  a  puzzling  but  distinct  change  all 
round. 

Finally  she  put  shovel  and  basket  by  and  went  to 
Mrs.  Wilson  again. 

"  Mis'  Lane's  brother  sent  some  things  tew  her  by  me, 
an'  I  guess  I'd  better  take  'em  up  now,  so'st  it'll  be  done 
with." 

"  I  would,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson. 

Lettice's  real  errand  to  Mrs.  Lane  was  to  find  out  why 
John  went  away,  and  she  did.  Walking  homeward  she 
settled  the  question  of  her  own  duty  all  along  the  line 
of  coming  action. 

Though  an  humble  handmaid,  she  felt  as  responsible 
in  her  own  sphere  as  did  the  town  clerk  and  selectman 


236  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

in  theirs,  and  had  no  more  idea  of  shirking  it  than 
they  had.  Supper  was  nearly  ready  when  she  reached 
home. 

"  I'm  late,  Mis'  Wilson,  an'  there's  nothin'  I  despise 
more'n  bein'  everlastingly  behind.  Fact  is,  Mis'  Wilson, 
I've  been  larnin'  my  spellin's  comin'  home." 

"  I  hope  you  can  recite  your  lesson,"  smilingly  said  the 
gentle  housemother. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  can,  from  baker  to  rhinoceros.  Tew 
begin  with,  if  'Lisbeth's  goin'  tew  have  a  stent,  I'd  better 
take  one." 

"  See  to  something  in  particular  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  'Sides  common  work  I'll  make  the 
biled  cider  apple-sass  an'  candles,  smoke  the  hams  an' 
dry  the  beef,  if  you'd  jest  as  soon." 

"  Very  well,  Lettice." 

•  Thus  it  was  settled.  Spinning,  weaving,  knitting, 
and  embroidery,  as  well  as  homelier  toil,  kept  their 
minds  above  weak  and  plagueful  meditations.  Not  that 
forgetfulness  waited  upon  diligence,  but  that  remem- 
brance was  healthy,  sweet,  and  true.  Care  for  others 
brought  a  benignant  quiet,  not  of  oblivion,  but  of  pa- 
tience, trust,  and  hope. 

Before  the  south  windows  with  the  creamy  rolls 
when  it  was  sunshiny,  facing  the  fire  in  foul  weather, 
daily  'Lisbeth  spun  five  skeins  of  even  woollen  yarn, 
or  drew  glossy  flax  from  the  distaff  into  fine  thread  for 
warp  and  woof  of  linen  webs; 


At  Home  237 

She  sewed  late  afternoons,  though  sometimes,  gener- 
ally at  Lettice's  suggestion,  she  put  on  a  pretty  gown 
of  dark  red  camlet  or  soft  blue  flannel,  with  dainty 
embroidered  edge  at  neck  and  wrists,  and  paid  a  visit 
with  her  mother  or  Ruth  Willard. 

There  were  also  a  few  late  quiltings,  and  delightful 
sewing-bees,  where  she  was  indispensable  as  one  who 
always  knew  when  to  run  a  seam  and  when  to  back- 
stitch it,  and  the  very  best  width  for  fells  and  hems. 
She  also  laid  gathers  deftly,  and  was  an  authority  on 
gussets. 

Several  crisp  days  she  tramped  beechnutting  with 
the  boys,  or  climbed  the  Pinnacle  for  white  cudweed 
blooms  that  lasted  all  winter  in  pitchers  on  the  fore 
room  mantelpiece,  or  hunted  the  swamp  for  creamy 
scarlet  bittersweet  to  twine  with  them.  Her  gladsome 
presence  cheated  the  long  winter  evenings  of  weariness, 
as  she  sat  beside  her  mother  and  the  boys  near  the 
great  fire,  by  a  table  on  which  a  couple  of  candles 
winked  and  flickered,  sewing,  or  drawing  red  yarn  into 
shapely  mittens  with  a  bone  hook.  Often  she  read  to 
the  family  from  Goldsmith's  Greece  or  English  History, 
and  to  her  father,  specially,  books  of  philosophy  and 
biography.  The  New  Hampshire  Patriot  and  State  Ga- 
zette reached  Mr.  Wilson  once  a  week,  bringing  correct 
and  well-sifted  news.  She  read  entire  speeches  on  lead- 
ing politics,  the  paper  frequently  printing  both  sides  of 
an  important  question,  while  the  firelight  sheen  danced 


238  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

'mong  her  wavy  tresses,  and  the  spirit  of  national  dis- 
cussion reddened  her  cheeks. 

The  polemical  bent  of  that  mightily  equipped  race 
was  fully  set  forth  many  a  time  that  winter  in  the  east- 
room,  when  neighboring  men  and  women  dropped  in  to 
exchange  opinions  and  courtesies. 

Often  an  ox-sled  on  which  a  whole  family  rode,  a 
pung,  or  a  sleigh  on  low,  wide  runners,  with  back  so 
high  only  the  tops  of  hat  and  bonnet  appeared  above 
it,  pulled  into  Mr.  Wilson's  dooryard,  to  the  chiming 
of  great  bells  strung  around  the  horse's  neck.  They 
recognized  approaching  visitors  by  the  pitch  of  bells, 
for  no  two  strings  were  keyed  alike  and  of  the  same 
size.  Some  weighed  fully  three-quarters  of  a  pound, 
some  less  than  half  of  that. 

Company  came  in  just  after  sundown  two  or  three 
times  a  week.  Visiting  opened  by  talking  over  the 
price  of  hemlock,  axe-helves,  and  so  on  among  the  men, 
and  domestic  matters  among  the  women  (after  all  news 
concerning  neighbors  had  been  repeated),  gradually,  but 
inevitably,  leading  up  to  discussion  of  politics,  foreordi- 
nation,  and  free  will. 

Mr.  Wilson  was  the  expounder  of  the  "  scheme  of 
salvation,"  as  he  termed  it.  Aunt  Seth  was  swift  to 
answer  Huldah  Moses  powerfully  and  pointedly;  but 
among  her  own  sect  she  did  express  doubts  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  clerical  control  in  temporal  affairs,  and 
fretted  some  over  dogma. 


At  Home  239 

There  was  a  slight  flavor  of  abolitionism  abroad, 
and  she  leaned  toward  it  just  enough  to  spice  debate. 

One  evening  in  early  winter  she  and  her  husband 
came  in  a  red  pung  and  entered  the  house,  healthful 
and  bracing  as  a  west  wind.  Toward  nine  o'clock,  he 
and  Mr.  Wilson  enjoyed  quite  an  exciting  skirmish, 
while  she  watched  'Lisbeth  play  fox  and  geese  with 
Tom.  She  closed  it  by  asserting  :  — 

"  This  world  is  some  like  a  set  of  picters,  Mr.  Wilson. 
We  larn  by  what  we  see.  I  was  readin'  'bout  field 
work  down  South,  in  our  children's  jography.  It 
seemed  some  puzzlin';  but  when  I  turned  the  leaf  an' 
see  them  negroes  pictured  pickin'  cotton,  why  there 
'twas." 

"Picters  ain't  substance,  Mis'  Batchelder." 

"No;  but  they  stan'  for  it.  Hobson's  little  gal  was 
tew  our  house  yesterday  —  you  know  her  father  abiises 
his  family.  I  told  her  bime  by  she'd  go  tew  her  FatheJ 
in  heaven,  an'  I  declare,  the  poor  little  critter  was 
scairt  a'most  tew  death.  I  thought  then  and  there  what 
a  sight  some  of  us  must  be  tew  our  children." 

Mrs.  Batchelder  had  no  idea  of  striking  the  grizzled 
farmer  such  a  blow,  but  his  soul  ached  as  he  noticed 
'Lisbeth  pale  above  the  fox  and  geese  board. 

However,  he  bravely  quoted  Paul  to  the  Corinthians 
as  to  parental  authority  and  servants. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  hain't  nothin'  agin  Paul,  an' 
I  should  wish  tew  be  so  understood ;  but  I  guess  if  we 


240  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

follered  Paul's  Master  a  little  closer,  we  shouldn't  walk 
quite  so  skewin'  tew  our  childern.  As  tew  this  buyin' 
an'  sellin'  of  husbands  an'  wives  an'  childern,  p'raps  its 
all  foreordinated  an'  so  tew  be. 

"  Mebby  them  souls  are  some  of  his  little  ones  larnin' 
their  a-b-abs  in  a  hard  school,  where  they  don't  even 
own  the  skin  on  their  backs.  But  we  needn't  set  up 
little  lights  over  it,  they  won't  be  wuth  a  piece  of 
punk." 

Lettice  opened  the  door  at  that  critical  juncture, 
and  invited  them  out  to  one  of  her  very  best  cups  of 
coffee.  The  boys  lighted  a  candle,  put  it  into  a  tin 
lantern,  and  went  to  the  barn  after  the  horse,  which 
jogged  away  with  the  company  shortly  after  nine 
o'clock. 


CHAPTEE   XXIII 

SPELLING-SCHOOL     AND     SUGARING-OFP 

MR.  WILSON  remembered  Aunt  Seth's  picture  lesson. 
He  made  more  evening  visits  with  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter. When  Mr.  Ward,  late  in  March,  came  out  to  in- 
spect the  school,  he  invited  'Lisbeth  to  go  with  them  to 
the  schoolhouse,  and  her  father  heartily  assented. 

The  boys  hauled  a  sled-load  of  kitchen  chairs  before- 
hand for  the  use  of  the  master's  guests. 


Spelling-School  and  Sugaring-off  241 

Pausing  a  moment  at  the  schoolroom  door,  awaiting 
answer  to  their  knock,  they  heard  the  order, — 

"Else." 

Mr.  Page,  the  master,  throwing  the  door  wide  open, 
disclosed  the  school  standing  with  heads  up  and  folded 
arms.  Not  a  muscle  of  the  squad  moved,  and  every  eye 
was  fixed  on  the  visitors.  Mr.  Page  greeted  Mr.  Ward 
ceremoniously,  then  introduced  him.  "  Scholars,  our  su- 
perintendent, Mr.  Ward."  The  strangely  draped  stat- 
uary dropped  its  arms  and  bowed  low. 

"  Mr.  Wilson." 

Another,  but  less  reverential  bow.  The  master  spoke 
a  confused  good-afternoon  to  'Lisbeth  in  plaid  cloak  and 
pink-lined  hood  as  she  passed  quietly  in. 

"  Be  seated,  scholars." 

Mr.  Ward  was  critic,  schoolmaster,  friend,  and  pastor. 
The  children  of  the.  town  regarded  him  with  great  love 
and  veneration.  He  tested  the  knowledge  of  each  child 
carefully,  and  there  was  no  sting  in  his  reproof.  He  be- 
lieved, as  did  all  men,  that  schools  were  fundamental, 
the  upholders  of  religion  and  conservators  of  the  State. 
There  was  a  settled  conviction  that  if  free  government 
founded  on  free  conscience  failed,  ignorance  would  strike 
it  down.  Hence  arose  the  scrupulous  training  of  future 
men  and  mothers  of  men. 

"  In  what  order  will  you  make  the  examination  ?  "  in- 
quired Mr.  Page. 

"  Let  the  school  read  the  morning  Bible  lesson." 


242  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Turn  to  the  twentieth  chapter  of  Matthew.  Com- 
mence, Francis." 

A  scholarly  young  man  on  the  back  seat  rose,  and  rev- 
erently read  the  first  verse,  then  sat  down,  and  so  on 
in  regular  order,  to  those  who  could  only  spell  out  the 
sacred  words. 

"  Class  in  geography." 

Girls  mostly  came  into  the  floor  and  toed  the  mark. 

Grammar  called  out  the  oldest  pupils ;  but  arithmetic 
brought  the  entire  school  into  the  floor. 

Mr.  Page  sounded  the  "a"  in  arithmetic  before  Mr. 
Ward,  though  on  off  days  he  might  have  dropped  it. 

Beginners  soon  went  to  their  seats ;  but  Mr.  Ward 
drilled  the  Colburn's  Arithmetic  and  ciphering  contin- 
gent for  an  hour.  Then  the  master  said,  — 

"You  may  have  recess.  Bring  your  copy-books  to 
the  desk  as  you  go  by." 

Each  pupil  on  reaching  the  door  faced  around  and 
made  a  droll  bow  of  courtesy,  entering  in  similar  fash- 
ion when  they  heard  Mr.  Page's  butternut  ruler  upon 
the  window.  The  time  after  recess  was  occupied  by 
Mr.  Ward,  who,  rising,  invited  Phil,  the  committeeman 
from  his  own  district,  to  make  remarks.  Phil  looked  at 
'Lisbeth,  pulled  at  his  vest  buttons,  and  shook  his  head. 
Mr.  Ward  criticised,  encouraged,  related  anecdotes,  and 
finally  added,  "  Let  us  pray."  Immediately  after  pray- 
ers Mr.  Page  said,  — 

"Kemember  spelling-school  to-night.  You're  dis- 
missed." 


Spelling-School  and  Sugaring-off  243 

Mr.  Wilson  invited  Squire  Hoyt  and  his  wife,  Mrs. 
Lane,  Mrs.  Oliver  Kidder,  the  master,  and  Phil  home  to 
supper ;  and  they  all  returned  at  candlelight.  A  great 
fire  -roared  up  the  chimney,  and  the  room  was  full  of 
boys  and  girls  who  had  brought  their  supper  and  stayed 
at  the  schoolhouse  till  evening. 

Bart  Lane  and  Eunice,  standing  on  opposite  chairs, 
clasped  hands  across,  and  repeated  in  unison,  — 

"  Lift  the  king's  gate  as  high  as  the  sky, 
And  let  the  king  and  his  train  pass  by  ;" 

while  an  endless  chain  of  red-cheeked  lads  and  lassies 
walked  laughing  through,  till  the  gate  should  fall,  im- 
prisoning a  pair.  The  children's  seat  was  full  of 
"button,  button"  players,  and  the  game  had  reached 
the  laughing,  pouting,  and  altogether  wild  stage  of 
forfeits. 

The  king's  gate  had  fallen,  when  upon  the  full- 
throated  laughter  came  a  terrible  hush ;  for  the  entry 
door  opened,  and  there  behind  the  master,  whose  rogu- 
ish smile  only  induced  bashfulness,  strode  Mr.  Wilson, 
clad  in  official  dignity,  and  hating  levity.  Very  quietly, 
yet  with  mirthsome  glances  at  safe  angles,  the  iron 
candlesticks,  bearing  lighted  candles,  were  placed  on 
desks,  sides  were  chosen,  Mr.  Wilson  reproved  them 
for  lightness  of  demeanor,  and  they  spelled  glibly  till 
recess.  Afterward  Mr.  Page  invited  Phil  to  select  a 


244  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

partner  and  choose  sides.  Without  a  second's  hesita- 
tion he  threaded  the  densely  packed  floor  to  'Lisbeth. 

"  Will  you  choose  with  me  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  yes,"  and  she  smilingly  followed,*  one 
and  another  of  the  young  men  whispering  as  she  passed, 
"  Choose  me  first,  'Lisbeth." 

Phil  was  proud  and  confident  and  gracious. 

"Choose  first,  'Lisbeth."  Half  a  dozen  raised  their 
hands. 

"Bichard  Sleeper."  Dick  Sleeper  was  a  handsome, 
splendidly  endowed  young  man,  cousin  to  the  Lane 
boys  and  John  Mayhew,  and  was  then  teaching  in  the 
Hoyt  district,  earning  money  for  expenses  at  Hanover, 
from  whence  he  would  graduate  at  the  next  commence- 
ment. He  was  also  Ruth's  lover ;  but  that  was  not 
to  be  common  news  till  he  graduated :  only  Ruth's 
nearest  friend,  'Lisbeth,  knew  it.  Coming  up,  he  whis- 
pered, under  cover  of  cheers  for  his  luck,  "Thankee, 
'Lisbeth;  choose  Ruth." 

Phil  heard  the  whisper,  and  was  jealous,  seeing  'Lis- 
beth nod  and  smile. 

"Another  college  feller,"  he  complained,  before  the 
cheers  subsided.  She  only  urged,  — 

"  Your  choice,  quick  !  " 

"  Ruth  Willard."     Dick  bit  his  lip,  but  saw  the  point. 

"We  will  have  speaking  first,"  said  Mr.  Page. 
"  Those  ready  to  speak  will  come  to  the  desk." 

The  first  was  a  declamation,  and  "Live  or  die,  sur- 


Spelling-School  and  Sugaring-off        .    245 

vive  or  perish,"  was  well  spoken ;  for  the  incense  of 
Revolutionary  sacrifice  was  in  the  air,  and  potent  still. 

After  him  boys  in  spencers  presented  "  The  Peruvian " 
to  general  satisfaction. 

"  Our  next  piece  is  a  short  dialogue,"  said  Mr.  Page ; 
and  two  tittering  girls  pushed  in  from  the  entry,  bit 
their  lips,  mumbled  a  few  words,  giggled  again,  and 
ran  out,  upsetting  the  shovel  and  tongs  in  their  flight. 

Then  a  boy  eight  years  old  started  bravely  to  recite 
"  A  Spanish  Poem."  He  commenced,  — 

"Life  is  a  sea;  how  fair  its  face!" 

There  he  stopped  short,  but  pretty  soon  began  again,  — 
"Life  is  a  sea  —  a  sea"          At  that  point  he  put 
both  hands  behind  him,  and  appeared  a  little  seasick. 

"  Life  is,  —  life  "  —  and  he  caught  grim  hold  of  his 
spencer  buttons  to  prevent  growing  worse;  then  he 
braced  himself  with  all  his  might,  dropped  his  arms 
resolutely  by  his  side,  and  made  a  determined  effort,  — 

"Life  is  a  sea;   how  fair  its  face! 
How  smooth  its  dimpling  water's  pace," 

"  pace  — pace — dimpling  water's —  dimple  —  dimp  —  dim 
—  dim  —  m-m-m-m1  —  "  ending  in  a  heart-broken  sob  as 
he  covered  his  eyes,  and  his  sturdy  little  boots  went 
bump,  bump,  to  a  seat,  every  thud  arousing  in  the  older 
boys  memories  of  a  time  when  their  own  boot-heels  had 
wakened  similar  echoes. 


246    ,  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Now,"  said  Uncle  Seth,  "  I  should  like  tew  hear  one 
thing  more  "  —  he  spoke  while  the  master  was  patting 
Billy,  and  telling  him  he  would  do  first-rate  next  time, 
—  "  now,  I  should  like  tew  hear  Dick  Sleeper  speak  the 
'  Declaration  of  Independence.'  Ev'ry  gal  ought  tew 
know  it,  an'  ev'ry  boy  needs  to  larn  it  same  as  he  would 
how  tew  handle  an  axe  or  a  hoe." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  "  Yes,  yes  "  from  men  and 
women.  Dick  had  been  saying  pleasant  nothings  to 
girls  near  by ;  but  instantly  the  roguish  boy  vanished, 
and  a  strong  youth,  obedient  to  his  elders,  stepped 
manfully  down  the  aisle,  into  the  floor,  and  pro- 
nounced the  stately  periods  of  that  wrondrous  instru- 
ment with  all  the  fervor  of  youthful  enthusiasm  and 
the  finis'h  of  established  schools.  Much  stress  was 
laid  upon  elegant  public  speaking.  Eloquence  was 
common.  Freedom  and  oppression  are  the  prolific 
gardens  of  expression. 

The  mightier  the  moving  force  which  demands  skil- 
ful phrases,  the  stronger  does  utterance  move  that 
ineffable  faculty  called  oratory.  Dick  satisfied  the 
audience,  returned  amid  cheers,  and  spelling  began 
briskly,  continuing  for  half  an  hour  then  Mr.  Page 
requested  the  school  to  rise  for  the  final  spelling-down. 
Moderately  hard  words  were  put  out  to  begin  with, 
increasing  in  difficulty,  till  but  four  were  standing  on 
'Lisbeth's  side,  Phil  and  Ruth  alone  on  his. 

"  I'll  make  one  more  venture,"  said  Mr.  Hull,  an  old 


Spelling-School  and  Sugaring-off  247 

schoolmaster.  "  It  is  a  compound  word.  Abel-beth- 
maachah.'' 

It  created  consternation.  Francis  first  pronounced 
according  to  custom. 

"That  is  correct  —  spell,"  three  times  he  essayed. 
"Wrong, — pronounce  it  and  sit  down." 

He  made  up  in  waggery  what  he  lacked  in  knowledge, 
saying  quickly  with  a  superb  dignity  natural  as  his 
breath. 

"  Abel-bid-me-take-her."  The  rafters  rang  with  mer- 
riment. "Next,"  was  finally  heard.  All  went  down 
but  Ruth,  who  had  been  spelling  Bible  names  to  a 
maiden  aunt  for  fun. 

Dick  whispered,  "  Ruth,  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  which 
so  disconcerted  her  that  she  missed  the  very  next  word. 

"  That  will  do.  This  district,  and  Mr.  Harmon's  side, 
win.  The  last  spelling-school  this  year  will  be  at  the 
Hoyt  schoolhouse  Monday  evening  at  early  candle-light. 
You  are  dismissed." 

Phil  jerked  his  waistcoat  down,  pulled  his  collar  up, 
patted  his  necktie,  settled  his  white-fringed  woollen 
wristers,  but  to  no  purpose.  No  amount  of  fixing  or 
fussing  could  "  screw  his  courage  to  the  sticking  point ; " 
so  'Lisbeth  slipped  away  without  his  saying  "  May  I  see 
you  home  ? "  When  next  he  saw  her  she  and  Martha 
Hoyt  were,  hand  in  hand,  sliding  down  schoolhouse  hill 
on  their  heavy  shoes. 

While  the  folks  were  putting  on  their  wraps,  Mrs. 


248  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Lane  invited  them  to  a  sugaring-off  a  week  from  the 
next  Thursday  evening.  Snow  and  ice  were  melting, 
stirring  suns  hurried  maple  juices  from  warm  roots  up 
through  woody  veins  and  arteries  to  quicken  waiting 
buds,  and  roadside  rivulets  ran  babbling  to  the  meadow 
brook  that  Thursday  evening  of  the  party,  when  Jack 
and  Tom  helped  the  Lane  boys  do  their  chores. 

They  brought  sap  yokes,  which  were  made  of  logs 
scooped  out  thin  with  adze  and  gouge  to  fit  their  shoul- 
ders. The  yoke-arms  were  thick  twigs  trimmed  to 
hooked  ends  upon  which  hung  the  pails.  The  upper 
ends  were  fastened  to  the  yoke  by  leather  thongs.  . 

Mr.  Lane's  maples  were  on  a  hillside.  Sweet-elder 
spiles,  driven  into  augur  holes  bored  in  the  trees,  dropped 
the  sap  into  ashen  troughs,  which,  the  boys  emptied  into 
pails,  and  cautiously  picked  their  way  down  the  slippery 
ledgy  path  to  the  dooryard,  where  they  poured  it  into  a 
half  hogshead  that  stood  beside  the  fire. 

Above  the  flames  a  heavy  pole  on  crotched  sticks  held 
up  two  great  iron  kettles,  and  in  them  the  sap  seethed 
and  hissed,  boiling  down  to  sirup. 

Before  the  boys  brought  their  last  bucketful,  the  Lane 
house  was  filled  with  a  confused  "  How  be  ye,"  "  Good 
eve'nin',"  and  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

The  young  men  immediately  began  to  whittle  out 
chisel-shaped  sticks,  "  spuds,"  for  their  sweethearts  and 
themselves,  not  forgetting  their  mothers  or  even  the  old 
maids.  Louisa  and  some  girls  put  cheese,  pickles,  plates 


Spelling-School  and  Sugaring-off  249 

of  doughnuts,  and  pans  full  of  snow  pounded  hard,  upon 
the  table. 

Mrs.  Lane  swung  a  pailful  iron  kettle  now  over,  now 
away,  from  the  steady  maple-chip  blaze,  as  the  sirup 
within  rose  and  fell,  at  first  in  tiny  wavelets,  then  it 
gently  puffed  through  its  creamy  foam.  She  tried  it  mo- 
ment by  moment  with  a  spoon.  When  the  sirup  dropped 
from  it  in  waxy  threads,  it  was  ready  for  spuds  and 
snow;  when  it  fell  brittly,  it  was  sugar. 

At  last  Mrs.  Lane  turned  her  head  on  one  side, 
puckered  her  mouth  quaintly,  and  said, — 

"  Loizy,  this  is  real  waxy.  See  what  you  think,  Mis' 
Wilson." 

"It  is  nice  for  spuds  and  snow,  Mis'  Lane." 

"  Hello,  Dick  !  how'll  you  have  it  ?  "  called  Francis. 

"What  is  it  ready  for?" 

"  Spuds." 

"  Then  I  prefer  spuds." 

He  thrust  some  deep  into  the  amber  froth,  twirled 
them  rapidly  to  cool  them  as  he  ran  out,  shouting  back, — 

"  Come,  Ruth  and  Eunice." 

Mrs.  Lane  ladled  part  of  the  sirup  into  a  crock,  and 
said,  — 

"Francis,  you  and  Tom  carry  this  out,  then  there'll 
be  all  the  dooryard  to  run  'round  in." 

The  elder  people  dipped  from  the  kettle  with  a  little 
gourd,  and  poured  it  over  the  snow,  let  it  cool  to  a 
brittle  paste,  then  broke  it  into  toothsome  bits. 


250  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Jollity  stole  in  from  outside  where  a  half-grown  moon 
sifted  geins  on  ragged  ice-fields,  and  its  placid  rays  fell 
upon  merry  maids  and  youths  gathered  in  knots  by  the 
fire,  or  running  to  snatch  a  delicious  stick,  or  wandering 
in  happy  pairs  along  the  shimmering  road. 

Phil  invited  'Lisbeth  to  a  seat  on  the  wood-pile's 
western  side,  half  withdrawn  from  their  companions. 
It  looked  significant,  he  -thought ;  quite  like  waiting 
upon  her  home.  After  a  while  he  went  in  for  a  pan. 
While  he  was  absent,  Huldah  came  out  and  spoke  con- 
fidentially to  Eunice,  who  was  out  of  sight,  but  within 
earshot  of  'Lisbeth. 

"  I  heard  a  queer  story  'bout  John,  Tuesday." 

«  What  was  it  ?  " 

Huldah  sighed  deeply. 

"  What  ails  you,  Huldy  Moses  ?  Stop  sithin' !  For 
the  land's  sake,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  don't  come  from  me,  but  I  s'pose  he's  begun  his 
flirtations." 

Eunice  grew  pale ;  for  if  the  story  were  true,  who 
could  tell  but  'Lisbeth  might  accept  Phil  out  of  spite, 
and  he  was  dear  to  her.  She  inquired  eagerly,  — 

"  Who  is  she  ?     Where'd  he  find  her  ?  " 

"I  heard  her  name;  Eose  Standish  Quincy.  No 
findin'  at  all.  He  went  to  Boston  'long  of  her  brother." 

«  Why,  Huldy  Moses  !  " 

"  Yes ;  brother  took  him  home,  an'  then  he  kep'  goin' 
an'  goin',  an'  there  'tis." 


Spelling-School  and  Sugaring-off  251 

"  My  stars  !     How  did  you  hear,  Huldy  ?  " 

"  I  went  tew  Bristol  Tuesday,  tew  cook  for  a  raisin'. 
Phoebe  Glines  works  at  Bristol  tahvern,  an'  she  says 
two  awful  high-steppiii'  chaps  drove  up  Monday  an' 
called  for  dinner.  When  they  was  tew  the  table,  one 
says,  'John  Mayhew  grow'd  'roun'  here,'  an'  t'other  he 
says,  '  Yes ;  we  left  Kose  in  his  care,  didn't  we  ? ' 
Phoebe  tells  by  the  way  they  looked,  that  John  acts 
softer'n  a  piece  of  putty.  One  man's  name  was  Quincy, 
an'  she  thinks  they  was  brothers ;  tenerate,  she  see  a 
letter  they  backed,  Rose  Standish  Quincy." 

"  Writ  all  out  like  that  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  tole  Phoebe  it  seemed  dretful  fussy.  No- 
body would  go  canterin'  off  with  it,  if  they'd  writ  Kose 
S." 

Dick  and  Kuth,  whispering  foolishness  at  the  end  of 
the  pile,  heard  it,  and  he  whispered,  — 

"  Look  after  Phil  when  he  comes  out.  I  must  see  to 
'Lisbeth." 

He  danced  gayly  to  her,  saying,  — 

"  Phil  cannot  expect  you  to  watch  the  moon  all  night. 
Come,  let's  slide  down  the  garden  wharfing." 

He  caught  her  by  the  hand,  and  they  were  over  the 
slope  before  she  quite  understood.  He  told  her,  — 

"  I  heard  Huldah's  yarn.  It's  a  lie,  'Lisbeth,  a  lie ! 
That  Glines  woman  does  not  know  one  thing  about  it." 

He  heartened  her,  and  in  a  few  moments  they  climbed 
the  bank,  Dick  immediately  calling,  — 


252  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  It's  time  to  parch  corn." 

Outsiders  trooped  into  the  kitchen.  Louisa  brushed 
the  hearth  clean  to  a  bank  of  glowing  embers.  Dick 
and  Eunice,  Phil  and  Kuth,  furnished  with  long  forked 
sticks,  sat  around  the  fireplace.  They  opened  furrows 
in  the  embers,  threw  the  shelled  corn  in,  and  waited 
till  pop,  pop,  flew  the  milk-white  kernels  in  all  direc- 
tions, being  finally  landed  on  the  cool  bricks  by  their 
deftly  handled  rods. 

Francis  and  'Lisbeth  gathered  the  mealy  morsels  into 
plates,  and  moistened  them  with  fast  cooling  maple 
sirup. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  started  homeward.  Huldah's 
chatter  had  reached  Phil's  ear,  and  he  was  very  talka- 
tive, having  made  up  his  mind  anew  that  he  should 
marry  'Lisbeth. 

He  made  no  attempt  to  escort  her  home,  because  he 
thought  it  over  while  parching  corn,  and  concluded  to 
adopt  other  methods. 

The  stories  would  creep  around;  Huldah  would  see 
to  that,  and  he  would  finally  propose,  when  between 
'Lisbeth's  injured  pride  and  her  father's  commands, 
success  would  be  sure. 


Barn-Raising  253 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

BARN-RAISING 

A  FEW  weeks  later,  'Lisbeth,  walking  home  from  the 
post-office,  saw  Phil  waiting  by  his  pasture  bars.  He 
had  started,  axe  on  shoulder,  to  mend  some  fences,  but 
bethought  himself  of  an  excuse  to  go  home  with  her. 

"I'm  goin'  up  to  see  if  your  father  will  put  some 
of  our  young  stock  into  his  mountain  pasture.  How's 
your  folks  ?  " 

"  We  are  well,  thank  you.     How  are  yours  ?  " 

"  Mother's  kinder  mis'able."  She  was  struck  by  his 
unusual  gentle  anxiety. 

"Nothing  serious,  I  hope." 

"  She  works  too  hard,  mother  does.  Got  a  letter  ?  " 
He  saw  one  in  her  hand,  and  it  fretted  him. 

"  For  Mrs.  Moses.  I'm  going  to  leave  it  at  the 
King's." 

He  let  the  bars  down  at  Mr.  King's  lane  very  politely, 
and  they  walked  up,  to  find  Mrs.  King  with  her  husband 
and  son  in  the  woodshed  swingling  and  hatchelling  flax. 
Her  son  broke  stalks  with  strong,  lazy  blows  from  a 
wooden  swingling-knife,  while  his  father  pulled  the 
broken  stems  through  a  hatchel,  or  set  of  iron  teeth 
set  in  a  thick  plank,  which  shredded  the  coarse  parts 


254  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

from  the  fine,  leaving  finally  a  long  wisp  of  silky  flax. 
The  old  hunter  smiled  grimly  as  they  approached,  and 
bantered  the  youth. 

"Want  a  job,  Phil?  Then  jest  take  this  hatchel. 
I'm  sick  on't.  I'd  ruther  set  on  a  log  an'  watch  frogs 
pull  outen  the  mud." 

"  I  hain't  a  doubt  on't,  David ;  but  you  can't  be  tired," 
half  fretted  the  d*ame. 

"  I  ain't ;  that's  jest  it.  A  body  might  stan'  by  this 
hatchellin'-comb  tew  all  'tarnity,  an'  'twouldn't  wear  on 
'em  a  morsel.  Huh  !  what's  that  ?  " 

He  jumped  across  to  a  sheltered  spot  behind  the 
watering-trough,  where  some  early  violets  peeped  up 
through  humid  leaves.  He  bent  over  them,  waving 
a  hand  backward  to  quiet  the  dogs.  Suddenly  he 
said,  — 

"  It's  a  bee,  true  as  preachin' !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  King  calmly ;  "  they've  been  a-flyin' 
in  an'  out  our  hives  for  more'n  a  week." 

"  'Tain't  outen  our  hives,  Nabby.  It's  a  wile  one,  a 
wile  bee,  mother ! "  he  shouted,  waving  his  old  hat 
around  his  head. 

"We  ain't  deef,  David."  Her  voice  was  pretty  tart. 
"  An'  what  if  'tis  a  wile  one  ?  I  guess  it'll  git  erlong 
if  you  don't  up  an'  chase  it  'fore  it's  half  thawed  out." 

"  But  I  must  find  the  swarm." 

"David,  you  act  like  sixty,  caperin'  all  over  the 
woods  for  one  bee.  Who's  goin'  tew  dew  this  combin'  ?  " 


Barn-Raising  255 

"  The  gals ;  'tain't  hard.  Hello,  Mary  !  Here,  come, 
mother  wants  you.  I'm  off  for  the  honey,  Nabby." 

The  odd  reproof  of  face  and  pose  as  she  held  a  bunch 
of  tow  half  raised,  her  head  on  one  side  with  a  kind  of 
picturesque  criticism,  and  the  untutored  sarcasm  of  her 
answer,  were  inimitable. 

"  Honey  !  Honey  !  Prob'ly  he's  filled  a  holler  tree 
chuck-full  outen  that  little  half-froze  vilet." 

The  King's  eyes  twinkled  solemnly. 

"  Mebbe  t'ain't  runnin'  over  this  minit ;  but  I'm  goin' 
tew  blaze  the  tree  'gin  fall.  Come  along,  pups.  Gimme 
the  letter ;  no,  put  it  up  behind  the  comb-case."  That 
settled  it ;  and  he  trotted  woodsward,  allowing  his  wife 
to  comb  out  the  flax,  or  leave  her  distaff  unbonnetted, 
while  Phil  and  'Lisbeth  went  up  through  the  pasture, 
and  orchard  home,  to  the  utter  consternation  of  Lettice, 
who  was  making  pies  by  the  well-room  window. 

"  Lordy  !  It  can't  be,"  she  said  aloud  when  she  saw 
them ;  "  'tis  —  well,  if  I  ain't  beat !  "  With  one  hand 
on  a  hip,  and  the  other  on  the  table,  she  leaned  toward 
the  window  and  further  soliloquized,  — 

"  My  soul  and  body  !  that's  curus,  awful  curus  !  He's 
laffin'  an'  talkin'  —  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth  — 
he's  been  so  a  sight  lately,  an'  it's  the  funniest  th  —  0 
Mis'  Wilson,  how  you  scairt  me  !  " 

"  Who  are  you  talking  to,  Lettice  ?  " 

"  Myself  ;  I'm  tryin'  tew  make  these  punkin  pies,  an' 
I've  lost  the  rollin'-pin  —  here  'tis  under  the  niixin'- 


256  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

bowl.  I  can't  tell  whether  I've  salted  this  pie-stuff  or 
not ;  you  taste." 

"  It  is  very  nice,  Lettice." 

"  Then  I'll  put  the  things  together,  an'  bake  'em  'fore 
I  forgit  where  the  oven  is." 

She  returned  a  very  short  nod  to  Phil's  good-natured, 
"  How  be  ye,  Lettice  ?  " 

"  He's  personable  'nuff,  but  he  hain't  never  been  halter 
broke.  Eunice  could  train  him,  an'  I  wish  she  had  him 
this  minit,"  was  her  mental  comment  as  she  heard  him 
bargain  for  pasturing  stock. 

"  I  s'pose  you'll  all  be  up  to  the  Kidder  raisin,"  Phil 
said  just  as  he  was  going  out. 

"  Likely  we  shall ;  barn's  a  sixty  footer,  so  it'll  take  all 
the  men  to  lift,  an'  the  women  to  cook  an'  look  on,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Wilson. 

Lettice  came  in  to  the  oven,  and  Phil  asked,  "  Goin' 
to  cook  for  the  Kidder  raisin'  ?  " 

"  Spect  likely ;  Mis'  Kidder  spoke  tew  me  quite  a 
spell  ago." 

When  he  was  fairly  out-doors  Lettice  sent  a  comical 
glance  after  him,  observing,  — 

"  I'm  beat ;  that  is  a  solemn  fact." 

"  Why  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  'Cause  I  am." 

Lettice  hummed  and  scowled  a  good  deal  for  a  few 
days ;  but  she  was  early  and  chipper  at  Mrs.  Kidder' s 
raising-day  morning,  assisting  the  housewife. 


Barn-Raising  257 

"  I'll  take  the  brunt  of  cookin,  Mis'  Kidder,"  she  said ; 
"you  jest  put  on  your  good  cap,  an'  pin  a  black  silk 
handkercher  round  your  neck,  an'  see  tew  us." 

"  I'd  better  lay  out  the  tablecloths  'fore  I  dress  up. 
The  men  have  put  boards  on  high  horses  in  the  cheese- 
room  ;  makes  a  nice  long  table." 

"  Yes ;  hold  sixty,  I  persoom.  The  gals  better  set  it 
right  off,  for  we  all  want  tew  see  that  barn  go  up." 

By  nine  o'clock  the  whole  male  population  from  round- 
about was  whittling  on  the  garden  wall,  or  walking 
around  the  great  skeleton  that  lay  prone  upon  the 
ground  beyond  it.  ]\Ir.  Odlin,  the  carpenter,  gazed 
with  laudable  pride  on  those  great  timbers  prepared 
by  weeks  of  patient  toil  with  axe  and  saw,  square  and 
line,  adze  and  chisel. 

He  despised  no  helpful  suggestions  which  those  men 
of  trained  eyes  and  judgment  chose  to  make. 

Dreadful  accidents  befell  even  carefullest  framing ; 
and  he  was  glad  to  have  them  prove  dimensions,  and 
see  that  great  wooden  pins  and  wedges  were  secure. 

"  Seems  tew  me  that  j'ist  is  a  grain  long; "  and  Mr. 
Odlin  would  carefully  re-measure. 

"  This  brace-pin  would  stan'  a  leetle  more  drivin' ; " 
and  sturdy  blows  from  beetle  or  axe-head  made  it  sure. 

He  went  behind  them  all,  making  certain  that  joints 
were  fastened,  minding  if  the  deep  mortises  in  the  enor- 
mous rills  were  exactly  in  line  with  the  waiting  tenons, 
testing  by  the  square  as  he  went  along. 


258  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Anything  more,  Mr.  Wilson  ?  " 

"  Not  as  I  see." 

"  All  ready  !  " 

The  tone  was  strong,  rather  than  loud,  but  self-reli- 
ant and  commanding.  Shutting  knife-blades  clicked, 
hats  and  coats  were  thrown  off,  and  the  men  gathered, 
silent  and  determined. 

Mr.  Odlin  stationed  known  strong  and  reliable  persons 
at  the  corner  and  centre  posts;  others  held  huge  iron 
bars  laid  on  the  mortise  edge  to  guide  the  tenons  into 
place.  Phil  was  at  the  north  post.  Half  a  dozen  quick 
athletes  were  reserved  for  exigency,  some  with  bars, 
some  without.  The  rest  were  put  along  the  plate,  or 
evenly  disposed  among  the  timbers.  ^ 

From  then  till  the  enormous  framework  rose  in  air 
they  obeyed  but  one,  —  the  master  workman;  one  law 
obtained,  —  instant,  concerted  obedience. 

"  Take  a  long  breath,  men,  and  start  easy.  Are  you 
ready  ? " 

For  answer  each  grasped  what  prostrate  timber  lay  at 
his  feet. 

"  Now,  then,  take  it  up  —  slow  —  steady  —  now  she 
rises  —  stronger  at  the  centre  —  ease  off  on  the  north 
post  —  lift,  lift !  Heave  at  the  north !  Take  hold 
there ! "  turning  to  his  reserve.  An  awful  quiver  ran 
through  the  half -raised  frame.  Though  the  lifting  had 
been  very  slightly  uneven,  yet  it  had  warped  the  north 
post  so  no  joint  could  be  made. 


Barn-Raising  259 

Phil  stood  there,  tense  as  steel,  with  bar  braced 
against  that  frightful  weight,  an  only  hope  to  those 
bent  and  strained  beneath  that  shivering  burden. 

In  that  decisive  moment  Mr.  Odlin  was  calm,  swift, 
certain. 

"  Put  two  bars  with  Harmon's  !  Quick  !  Two  men 
go  to  the  centre ;  the  rest  take  hold  on  the  south 
end !  " 

They  obeyed.  Then  he  said  quietly  to  those  bent  like 
saplings,  "  Hold  a  minit,  men ;  hold  hard."  Then 
cheerily  called,  — 

"  Are  you  right  there,  Harmon  ?  " 

«  Ay !  " 

"  Once  more ;  altogether  now !  " 

A  wrestler  would  have  gloried  in  the  corded,  compact 
sinews  shown  in  arm,  shoulder,  back,  and  leg,  as  the 
bowed  mass  knitted  to  straighten,  and  overcome  the 
inertia  of  that  dead  weight. 

"  Good  !  "  cried  Mr.  Odlin.  "  It  moves ;  it's  goin'  up. 
Ha,  that's  it—  once  more  —  altogether.  Hea-ee-ee-ee-ve." 

A  heavy  thud,  thud  of  tenons  striking  the  deep  mor- 
tise beds  sounded  all  along  the  sill.  Thankful  mur- 
murs rose  from  the  group  of  Avomen  in  the  dooryard, 
who  soon  were  bringing  pails  of  steaming  coffee  to 
husband  and  sons.  Compliments  were  showered  upon 
Phil,  not  in  iterated  phrases  so  much  as  by  a  few  words 
fitly  spoken ;  for  those  people  were  strangely  provident 
of  praise.  He  looked  for  two  who  came  not. 


260  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

When  Eunice  saw  the  side  sway  into  place,  and  heard 
the  clang  of  falling  bars,  she  ran  to  the  far  shed,  where 
'Lisbeth  found  her  cooling  her  swollen  eyes.  Going  in 
to  dinner,  Phil  received  a  few  bright  words  from  'Lis- 
beth, but  talkative  Eunice  was  silent. 

After  the  meal,  boarding  the  barn,  smoking,  stories, 
and  finally  the  antics  of  some  who  had  imbibed  too 
much  New  England  rum,  put  it  out  of  his  mind.  Let- 
tice  asked  him  to  help  take  the  witless  men  in. 

"  Are  you  a  Washingtonian,  Lettice.?  " 

"  Good  land  !  I  hope  not.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"A  new-fangled  notion  for  stoppin'  rum-drinkin'." 

"  For  a  fact  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  for  good  an'  all  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"Well,"  said  she  firmly,  "then  I'm  it;  an'  I  don't 
care  a  cent  what  it  looks  like." 

"Mebby  it'll  die  out,  Lettice." 

"  If  sech  a  thing  as  you  speak  on  is  sprouted,  it'll 
live,  Phil ;  live  an'  grow.  Nobody  nor  nothin'  can  kill 
it,  for  it's  rooted  in  sufferin'  hearts,  an'  watered,  with 
bitterer  tears  than  you  ever  dreamt  on." 

Phil  by  his  own  fireside  that  evening  thought  it  over 
to  himself. 

"  Queer  that  jest  as  I  held  what  'peared  tew  me  the 
very  last  ounce,  an'  that  post  crawlin'  nearer  an'  nearer, 
I  give  one  look  to  the  house,  an'  see  mother  leanin'  over 


Barn-Raising  261 

tryin'  to  help,  an'  Eunice  an'  'Lisbeth  white  as  snow.  I 
knew  I'd  got  to  hold,  an'  I  did.  When  I  went  in  every- 
body said  more'n  'Lisbeth,  an'  Eunice  never  spoke.  It's 
dumb  funny  !  Why  didn't  Eunice  come  round  to  our 
side  of  the  table  ?  She  shied  it  like  a  colt.  What  ailed 
her,  anyway  ?  She's  a  girl.  I  s'pose  that  accounts  for 
it.  If  there's  funnier  critters  than  girls  in  this  wide 
world  I  don't  want  to  see  'em." 

Then  his  mind  wandered  to  Lettice. 

"  I  guess  they're  all  alike,  girls  an'  women.  Lettice 
keeps  a  middlin'  stiddy  jog,  — but  by  George  !  how  she 
did  cut  up  over  them  sots !  She  was  real  han'some, 
though,  kinder  lookin  as  if  she  see  kingdom  come." 

He  lighted  a  candle  and  went  up-stairs,  thinking  he 
should  settle  matters  with  'Lisbeth ;  and  the  evening 
after  he  did. 

How  he  presented  his  suit  or  she  received  it  none 
ever  knew.  She  spun  next  day  with  a  lightsome  song ; 
and  the  Harmons  simply  knew  their  son  had  dressed  in 
his  freedom  coat,  gone  out,  returned  early,  and  was 
surly  at  breakfast.  His  mother  was  worried ;  but  Mr. 
Harmon  explained,  — 

"  He's  all  right  Abbygil,  —  a  leetle  touch  of  spring 
weather  ;  fencin'll  cure  him." 

But  at  night  he  was  fain  to  say  he  missed  his  guess. 

Phil  did  not  mind  it  so  much  at  the  time,  for. he  was 
kindly  smiled  out  of  Mr.  Wilson's  ;  but  to  think  over 
and  look  back  upon  it  was  a  pretty  wearing  subject. 


262  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

By  the  end  of  the  week  he  concluded  upon  a  plan 
whereby  he  might  assert  his  importance,  and  let  the 
neighbors  understand  they  had  misled  themselves.  It 
resulted  from  a  habit  of  running  his  meditations  from 
-'Lisbeth  to  Eunice.  She  was  a  nice  girl,  had  fire  and 
spirit ;  yes,  and  come  to  think  of  it  she  was  pretty 
too. 

Eunice  would  like  to  go  to  his  cousin's  barn-raising 
at  Hebron  the  next  week,  why  not  invite  her  ? 

That  afternoon  while  whistling  jovially  behind  the 
plough,  he  saw  the  Batchelder  horse  come  over  Brainard 
hilltop,  and  jog  staidly  towards  him,  reined  by  Eunice. 

"  By  George  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  Hish,  Star,  back, 
Bright,  whoa,  —  hish-sh-sh." 

The  panting  black  oxen  stood  still  mid-furrow,  while 
he  skipped  lightly  away  to  the  road  and  waited  with 
one  foot  on  the  middle  rail  of  a  fence. 

«  Hello,  Eunice." 

"  How  be  ye,  Phil  ?  Here's  some  papers  for  your 
folks  an'  the  Smiths." 

"  Thankee ;  where've  ye  been  ?  " 

"  To  Bristol,  doin'  store  errants  for  mother.  I've  had 
lots  of  fun."  How  cheerily  she  laughed. 

"Did  you,  what  about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

"  Heard  any  news  ?  " 

"  No-o ;  only  Bob  Fowler  on  the  Alexandry  road  is 
cap'n,  an'  he'll  come  out  May  trainin'." 


Barn-Raising  263 

Kob  Fowler  had  strayed  to  their  side  of  the  pond 
several  times,  and  Phil  disliked  him  as  well  as  a  re- 
countal  of  his  honors. 

"I  must  be  goin',"  said  she,  pulling  up  the  bridle 
rein. 

"  See  here,  Eunice,  can't  you  stop  a  second  ?  " 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  Do  hold  on.     There's  a  raisin'  over  to  Hebron  next 
Wednesday." 
•  «  You  goin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an'  I  shall  be  pleased  to  take  you,  Eunice." 

There  !  It  was  done.  He  had  invited  her  according 
to  rules  and  regulations  in  such  cases  made  and  pro- 
vided. Eunice  felt  much  like  galloping  away ;  but  how 
could  she  with  a  frolic  in  prospect,  so  adapted  to  her 
brilliant,  every-day  beauty. 

Besides,  she  would  be  proud  to  go  wijth  him,  for  his 
bravery  at  Mr.  Kidder's  was  heralded  about ;  so  what 
was  there  to  answer,  as  she  flicked  the  budding  maples, 
only,  — 

"  I  should  like  to  go  if  mother  is  willin'." 

«  Horseback  ?  " 

"  Which  way  you  like." 

"Horseback  then  bright  and  early.*' 

How  delightful  she  was  that  crisp  spring  morning,  as 
she  bounded  to  the  saddle  ;  and  as  they  cantered  along 
he  watched  her  strong  pretty  face  change  to  glowing 
color  in  her  deep  pink  bonnet,  and  noted  with  what  firm, 


264  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

/ 

delicate  muscles  the  horse  was  reined.  He  was  really 
seeing  for  the  first  time  a  girl  he  had  loved  since  she 
went  to  school.  He  recollected  how  restless  she  was, 
and  that  her  little  hands  were  smitten  with  a  stinging 
hemlock  bough  because  she  could  not  sit  still.  Almost 
he  reached  to  take  them  for  pity  of  that  earlier  day. 
At  the  raising  he  grew  proud,  minding  how  she  moved 
among  the  maidens  ;  and  felt  blest  in  her  quiet  comrade- 
ship, riding  home  in  evening's  benignant  dusk.  It  was 
lonesome  after  he  turned  homeward  from  her  father's, 
and  the  saddle  looked  desolate.  He  was  so  busy  think- 
ing that  he  passed  the  Wilson  house  unheeding,  not 
dreaming  that  he  had  carried  misery  within  its  door 
that  day. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

AT  MB.  WILSON'S 

'LISBETH  saw  the  happy  couple  coming  down  school- 
house  hill  that  morning,  and  loitered  at  her  spinning- 
wheel  to  watch  them  passing  by.  While  she  idled,  her 
father  at  the  sheep-barn  flung  the  doors  together  an- 
grily and  made  straight  to  her.  Mrs.  Wilson's  ball  of 
yarn  she  was  doubling  fell  to  the  floor  when  she  saw 
him. 

"  Did  you  see  them,  'Lisbeth  ?  "  he  asked  fiercely. 

"Yes,  sir." 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  265 

"  How  happens  it  ?  n 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  alone,  father  ?  " 

"  No ;  you  need  to  be  'shamed,  you  wicked,  disobe- 
dient child.  You're  going  to  undo  this  sinful  deed,  an' 
that  quick,  too,  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why !  " 

«  How  ?  " 

"  You  sent  him  away,  now  bring  him  back !  " 

"  Father  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Tend  to  your  yarn,  Marthy,  an'  not  interfere  'tween 
me  an'  mine." 

The  girl  felt  righteously  angered,  and  respectfully  de- 
manded, — 

"Who  gave  me  to  you,  and  why?  Are  you  answer- 
ing your  own  obligation  ?  " 

No  hidden  tremor  quavered  in  one  syllable  of  that 
clearly  spoken  question.  As  for  candor  and  intrepid 
spirit,  she  was  tuned  to  one  key  with  him. 

He  was  dumb  before  her.  He  expected  tears,  but  not 
that  manner ;  yet  he  felt  distinctly  proud  of  her,  as  he 
met  the  full  light  of  those  steadfast  eyes  and  that 
serenely  dominant  face,  almost  at  even  height  with  his 
own.  His  rocky  pride  was  reflected  there,  but  con- 
trolled by  the  more  judicial,  kingly  temper  that  marked 
her  mother's  race.  Before  he  recovered  himself  she 
again  asked,  — 

"  Who  gave  me  to  you,  and  why  ?  " 

He  grew  fiercer  still.  She  questioned  him  —  she, 
who  was  a  baby  yesterday  !  He  would  let  her  know ! 


266  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Do  you  persoom  to  cliatechize  me  ?  Well,  you're 
to  be  warmed,  fed,  an'  taken  care  of,  for  which  you  are 
to  be  subject  to  parental  authority  an'  foller  my  judg- 
ment till  you  are  married." 

"Not  quite  so,  father,  because  you  might  command 
what  would  be  sin  to  me.  You  were  held  till  my  con- 
science was  instructed,  but  not  now.  At  the  final  reck- 
oning I  must  speak  for  myself.  So  therefor  and 
thereto  I  must  shape  my  life." 

"  You  shape  your  life  !  Humph  !  Kemember  that 
evening  at  your  uncle's.  Did  you  hear  what  I  said 
then  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  'Spect  me  to  change  my  mind  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not." 

"  Elizabeth,  I  will  not ;  you  are  goin'  to  make  a  sharp 
turn  an  bring  Phil  back." 

"  Father  ! " 

"  Not  another  syllable,  not  one  " 

Lettice's  mud  shoes  pattered  in  through  the  entry  so 
heavily  as  to  interrupt  Mr.  Wilson.  She  hummed  mer- 
rily, her  large  bonnet  shutting  out  the  scene  upon  which 
she  entered,  as  she  called  attention  to  a  small  basket 
heaped  with  dandelions. 

"  See  here,  ain't  these  nice  ?  I  went  both  sides  of 
the  road  most  tew  Mis'  Lane,  an'  now  I  guess  there  ain't 
'nuff  for  a  mess  'thout  piecin'  out  with  mustard.  Who 
do  you  think  I  see  ?  Phil  an'  Eunice  —  fairly  did  me 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  267 

good,  they  was  so  happy ;  an'  its  percisely  as  the  Lord 
intended,  I  hain't  a  doubt." 

She  set  the  basket  on  the  table,  and  threw  a  stick  on 
the  fire,  before  Mr.  Wilson  could  find  a  point  to  thunder 
out,  — 

«  Lettice ! " 

Down  bumped  a  second  stick. 

"  Good  land !  how  you  scairt  me.  You  needn't  take 
my  head  off.  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

One  glance  at  the  ascendant  cap-border  jerking  en- 
couragement towards  Mr.  Wilson,  another  at  his  fright- 
ened wife  and  'Lisbeth,  disclosed  the  matter. 

"  Knowed  it  quicker  'n  a  wink,"  she  said  after- 
wards. 

"  Presumption  !  you  don't  know  divine  plans." 

"  That's  a  fact.  I  said  mor'n  I  ort  tew,  but  no  more 
dew  you  an'  "  — 

"  Lettice,  stop." 

"  I'm  goin'  tew  say  my  say.  You  don't  know  nothin' 
'bout  it,  nor  I  nuther,  so  we're  even ;  an'  all  our  little 
lights  are  dim  'sides  one  that's  allus  burnin',  Mr.  Wil- 
son, —  jest  one  — that  is  love,  an'  God  is  love,  an'  that's 
his  light." 

He  glared  at  her,  and  kicked  a  fallen  brand  into  the 
fire;  remarking,  — 

"We're  goin'  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  Lettice." 

"A  good  idee  —  very;  I  would  if  I  was  you,  an' 
qould." 


268  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

«  Could  !  could  ! " 

"  Yes ;  depends  on  the  leaf.  Some  weigh  mor'n 
others.  A  maple  one  might  rustle  down  an'  you'd 
skurcely  sense  it,  but " 

"  I  am  talkin'  of  a  leaf  of  conduct,  Lettice." 

"  So  I  s'posed.  Well,  you've  tackled  the  heftiest  one 
of  all,  but  I  hain't  done  nothin'  wuss  'n  pick  some 
greens." 

"  You  know  better,  Lettice.  You  three  women  have 
schemed  and  contrived  agin  my  authority." 

"  0  Thomas  !  "  pleaded  his  frightened  wife. 

"  It  is  true,  Marthy  ;  upholdin'  that  gal  yender  till 
she  flings  her  head  higher  'n  an  unbroken  colt,  despisin' 
duty." 

"  I  never  did  no  sech  thing  nor  thought  on  't,"  stur- 
dily claimed  the  handmaiden.  "  'Lisbeth  ort  tew  dew 
her  duty  'thout  shirkin',  let  it  come  back  or  aige ;  but 
she  must  tackle  her  own  stint,  not  somebody  else's." 

Lisbeth  had  been  gazing  upon  the  pond,  jewelled  be- 
neath the  spring  sun.  At  that  point  she  broke  into 
Lettice's  vigorous  speech. 

"  Father,  I  should  like  to  do,  as  Lettice  has  said,  my 
duty." 

"Well,"  said  he,  wishing  he  had  gone  into  the  fore- 
room,  "  it's  easy  'nuff ;  tell  me,  have  you  refused  Philip 
Harmon  ?  " 

"I  have." 

"  Knowin'  he  had  my  promise  ?  " 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  269 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  smiled  pitifully ;  "  but  was  not  mine 
necessary  ?  " 

"  I  don't  consider  that  it  was  or  is.  Why  did  you 
refuse  him  ? " 

She  grew  pale  and  clutched  a  chair,  but  said  eagerly,  — 

"  Father,  he  does  not  care." 

"  We  ain't  talkin'  of  his  side.     Speak  for  yourself." 

"  Because  I  could  not  like  him  —  so." 

Her  maidenly  sense  was  affronted,  and  slow  sparks 
gleamed  and  died  in  her  eyes  while  speaking.  Mr. 
Wilson  kept  his  temper,  for  he  discerned  that  so  lay 
the  only  likelihood  of  controlling  that  tranquilly  bel- 
ligerent child. 

"  Why  ?  Pick  out  a  likelier  young  man  than  he  is. 
Well-lookin',  well-behaved,  and  got  faculty.  He  has  a 
first-rate  farm,  house,  an'  stock,  an'  every  shingle,  field, 
an'  hoof  his  own." 

"  He  doesn't  want  me  to  help  him  take  care  of  it." 

"  Don't  tell  me.  Faultin'  Phil  don't  bridge  no  brooks, 
nor  keep  my  word.  S'posen  he  was  John  Mayhew  ?  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  You'd  marry  him,  in  a  minit,  if  you  was  let  be. 
Why  ?  " 

She  never  faltered  ;  but  a  roseate  blush  suffused  her 
cheek  as  she  replied,  — 

"  Because  I  love  him." 

"  Pshaw  !  he  never'll  come  back  ;  you  can  settle  on 
that." 


270  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

He  eould  not  understand  the  happiness  of  living  sure 
of  a  love  that,  making  no  sign,  still  ran  on  an  harmo- 
nious undersong  in  the  melody  of  life.  He  continued,  — 

"We've  cleared  the  well,  an'  he  comes  up  in  the  last 
bucketful.  'Lisbeth ! " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  grieve  you." 

"  I  ain't  grieved.  I'm  'shamed  as  a  dog.  I  s'pose 
you'll  turn  Methodis'  'fore  long.  You  an'  your  mother 
an'  Lettice  a-carryin'  on  an'  shoutin'  with  the  rest." 

'Lisbeth  surveyed  the  mountain-tops  beyond  the  pond 
before  replying,  — 

"  If  they  believe  everybody  has  a  fair  chance  for 
heaven,  no  wonder  they  shout." 

"  Heresy !  heresy  in  my  house  !  Heresy  brought  to 
my  door  by  John  Mayhew,  curse  him  !  Reprobate,  and 
son  of  reprobate,  non-elect  and  foreordained  to  per- 
dition ! " 

"  Here,  Mr.  Wilson,  wait  a  jiffy  !  "  exclaimed  Lettice, 
jumping  up  with  a  knife  in  one  hand  and  a  dandelion 
root  in  the  other.  "  He  don't  act  like  a  critter  of  that 
kind,  not  a  mite.  Markin'  souls  for  the  Lord  is  skeery 
business.  S'posen  John  should  turn  round  and  pick 
you  out  for  wrath  ?  I  guess  there'd  be  some  squirmin'/' 

"  Go  back  tew  your  greens,  Lettice,  an'  keep  still." 

She  obeyed,  after  giving  him  another  piece  of  her 
mind  with  her  sharp  eyes,  and  'Lisbeth  resumed,  — 

"  Supposing  it  is  foreordained  that  I  shall  never 
marry,  what  can  you  do,  father  ? " 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  271 

"  Make  sure  no  chances  are  thrown  away.  A  gardeen 
will  be  provided.  You  must  ask  Phil  i>ack." 

"  Me  !     Ask  him  !     I  cannot." 

"  Sech  pride  needs  breakiii'.     If  you  can't,  I  can." 

"Don't,  father;  don't.  Let  me  stay  here,  for  you 
will  need  me  as  Lettice  grows  older." 

"  And  marry  John  Mayhew  finally  ?     No !  " 

"I  promise  never  to  marry  without  your  consent; 
but  don't  drive  me  away.  Mother  needs  me,  and  I  will 
be  as  faithful  as  a  dog." 

"Nothin'  will  change  my  mind.  I  shall  see  Phil 
myself,  and  tell  him  the  whole  story.  You  needn't 
worry,  for  we  can  manage  it ;  but  you  will  marry  him 
before  snow  flies." 

"  Ask  him  to  marry  me  ! " 

"  He  asked  me  long  ago." 

"  Am  I  to  be  sold  like  one  of  the  cattle  ?  Bargained 
for  no  price  at  all,  but  given,  in  fact,  to  a  neighbor's 
son,  as  if  I  had  no  soul." 

"  Bargain  an'  trade  are  hard  sayin's.  I  only  hold 
him  to  his  promise,  and  keep  mine." 

"  Father,  I  cannot  marry  Philip  Harmon  !  Do  you 
hear,  I  cannot !  " 

He  was  very  pitiless  and  stern. 

"Elizabeth  Wilson,  you  certainly  will !  " 

"  Think  the  matter  over  a  day,  only  one  day,  father." 

"Not  an  hour,  nor  minit;  no  time  at  all." 

"  Then  hear  me  :  I  never  will  marry  Philip  Harmon." 


272  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  What !  will  not  ?  " 

"  I  will  not !  " 

His  temper  grew  to  white  heat.  "Elizabeth,  you 
must !  Do  you  understand,  —  must !  " 

She  fronted  him  deferentially,  yet  the  frown  between 
her  brows  answered  before  she  spoke. 

"Father,  I  have  ever  honored  you,  and  though  your 
faith  has  seemed  harsh,  it  has  been  mine ;  I  do  not  see 
as  it  gives  you  such  power  over  me.  If  I  have  come 
to  discretion  which  allows  marriage,  I  have  to  what  is 
necessary  in  the  selection  of  a  husband.  My  conscience 
distinctly  opposes  your  proposition,  therefore,  pro- 
foundly respecting  parental  authority,  and  desiring  to 
follow  sacred  precepts  carefully,  duty  to  myself  compels 
me  to  say  I  cannot,  dare  not,  will  not,-  marry  this  man 
Philip  Harmon." 

"I  want  to  know.''  The  sarcasm  wounded  like  a 
scourge.  "  Well  and  good ;  may  I  ask  what  your  lady- 
ship expects  to  do  ?  " 

"  Stay  at  home,  and  show  that  in  everything  but  this 
I  am  obedient  to  the  letter." 

"  Spitin'  authority  makes  you  a  stranger ;  this  is  not 
your  home  any  more." 

"  Father  ! " 

"  An  unwelcome  stranger  at  that.     Go  !  " 

"  You  send  me  away  ?  Me  !  Away !  You  will  kill 
me." 

"We've  come  to  a  sorry  day  for  all  on  us,  but  law  is 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  273 

law.  For  wilful  breakin'  of  church  commands  you  will 
answer  to  church  discipline.  For  despisin'  an'  scornin' 
your  father,  I  disown  you." 

"  You  cannot " 

"Go,  without  one  cent  from  me.  Be  a  burden,  on 
your  mother's  relations  —  work,  beg,  what  not;  it  is  one 
to  me  till  you  repent." 

"  Mother !  "  was  the  heart-breaking  cry. 

"  Let  her  alone,  Marthy,  she  is  cussed.  Don't  put  a 
hand  on  her  agin.  She  takes  the  consequences  of  her 
sin,  and  must  leave  the  house,  to  starve  for  all  I  care, 
'thout  a  sign  from  the  dog." 

"  She  won't  dew  no  sech  thing,"  dandelion  greens 
strewed  the  floor  as  Lettice  jumped  to  her  feet,  "ten- 
erate  as  starve.  If  she  goes,  so  do  I." 

"  Go  back  to  your  work." 

"  No,  sir ;  I've  riz  tew  stay,  an'  my  blood  biles  at  the 
idee  of  flingin'  that  blessid  gal  at  Phil.  I've  held  my 
tongue  'cause  it's  the  fashion,  but  I  ain't  blind,  an'  this 
pesterin'  an'  foolin'  has  been  goin'  on  under  my  nose  for 
mor'n  a  year ;  now,  if  you're  goin'  to  wind  up  by  sendin' 
her  off,  off  I  go  tew." 

"Don't  let  me  speak  agin.     Fool !  she's  cussed." 

"Cat's  foot  for  cussin'  done  in  sech  a  sperrit.  Talk 
'bout  Africky,  an'  here  you  be  tryin'  tew  sell  a  white 
soul  if  ever  there  was  one,  or  give  it  away  for  nothin' 
in  creation  but  tew  lord  it  over  your  own  gal.  I  never 
did  see  sech  iniquity,  so  there  !  " 


274  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Get  into  the  kitchen  with  your  greens." 

"Thomas  Wilson,  you  can't  order  me  round  now. 
I'm  of  age,  an'  I  won't  be  sat  down  on,  an'  squoshed  an' 
made  mince-meat  of.  I  feel  as  free  an'  equil  as  you 
dew,  an'  more  tew,  I  guess,  for  you  act  like  a  man 
bound  hand  an'  foot  tew  Satan,  if  ever  a  man  was.  You 
ain't  in  a  pious  temper,  that's  flat." 

He  pointed  menacingly  toward  the  kitchen. 

"  I'll  inquire  your  'pinions  another  time." 

"You'll  git  'em  now.  You're  boun'  for  heaven,  I 
s'pose.  I  will  say  an'  stan'  tew  it  that  your  present 
high  cross  tones  would  cut  a  figger  up  'mong  the  harps, 
sackbuts,  an'  psalteries.  You  wouldn't  chord,  Thomas 
Wilson." 

Suddenly  'Lisbeth  broke  Lettice's  fierce  harangue. 

"  Mother,  if  you  were  me  would  you  marry  Phil  ?  " 

"No,  child  ;   it  would  be  sin." 

"  Marthy !  "  was  all  Mr.  Wilson  could  utter. 

"  Thomas !  "      No  challenge  could  have   been  more 

resolute. 

• 
The  old  lady  had  been  rocking   steadily,  eying   the 

group  with  set  lips  and  spectacles   pushed  above   the 
raving  cap-border.     At  that  point  she  spoke,— 

"  I  tole  ye  so  time  an'  agin ;  p'inted  it  out  'fore  ye 
was  merrid  an'  sence,  Thomas;  but  you've  gone  on  a- 
lettin'  out  here,  an'  givin'  way  there,  till  there's  pesky 
little  left  of  ye  anywhere.  Now  I'd  see.  If  a  man  can 
rule  his  house,  I'd  dew  it." 


At  Mr.  Wilson's  275 

"Thomas,"  said  his  wife,  "come  into  the  foreroom." 

"Not  a  step.     Beggin'  a  year  won't  alter  the  case." 

"  I  am  no  beggar,  Thomas,"  and  truly  she  showed  no 
suppliant  mood ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you 
alone." 

"  The  world  may  hear  for  all  I  care." 

"  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Very  well.     Elizabeth  is  my  child  as  well  as  yours." 

"I  have  disowned  her." 

"  My  child  alone,  then ;  she  will  not  leave  me." 

"  This  is  my  house.     She  starts  " 

"  One-third  of  this  property  is  mine,  paid  for  with  my 
money,  which  you  borrowed  with  my  consent  from  my 
trustee." 

"  Marthy  Baker  !  " 

"My  trustee,  brother  William,  will  see  that  she 
stays." 

"  She  shall  not  speak  to  me,  I  tell  you." 

"  That  makes  no  difference." 

"  Stay  an'  not  speak  ! " 

"I  shall  remain,  sir,"  quietly  said  'Lisbeth. 

Farmer  Wilson  drove  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
studied  the  floor.  He  was  benumbed;  for  those  three 
hitherto  obedient  women  had  worsted  him.  The  prop- 
erty did  lay  as  his  wife  had  said ;  and  no  man  had  ever 
trifled  with  WTilliam  Baker,  or  ever  would,  that  he 
knew. 


276  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

One  way  opened  to  a  show  of  authority,  and  he  took 
it. 

"  Until  you  repent,  never  speak  to  me ;  for  I  am  not 
your  father,  or  rather,  you  died  this  morning.  If  you 
wish  to  stay  so,  why  stay." 

Then  he  strode  out  of  the  house,  stumbling  over 
Dorothy  curled  up  on  a  cricket,  sobbing. 


CHAPTEE   XXVI 

AN    OCCURRENCE    AT    PLYMOUTH 

IT  was  a  good  while  before  Dorothy  took  her  wooden 
measure  and  went  into  the  attic,  and  sat  down  on  the 
log  trough  that  held  the  sheep's  grain.  She  mixed  tears 
plentifully  with  corn  and  beans.  A  prolonged  bleating 
greeted  her  as  she  went  out ;  for  it  was  much  past  grain- 
ing time,  and  a  line  of  sheep  strung  from  the  east  door- 
step down  across  the  road  into  the  field.  Dorothy 
talked  to  them  with  tears  still  falling  as  she  laid  the 
grain  handful  by  handful  on  raised  stones  or  tufts  of 
grass-roots. 

"  Oh,  dear !  how  happy  you  all  look.  I  s'pose  it's 
because  you  ain't  folks  and  can't  think.  No,"  she  said 
decidedly,  "only  folks  have  souls,  and  you'd  be  glad  if 
you  knew  enough.  They're  such  a  bother." 

She  made  the  last  remark  doubtfully  to  the  upturned 


At  Home  and  at  Plymouth  277 

faces  all  around  her,  as  they  raised  their  heads  to  break 
the  rich  kernels.  It  sounded  rather  wicked,  but  she  was 
too  sorry  to  stop. 

"  Some  folks  don't  have  very  big  souls ;  for  I  heard 
Uncle  William  say  he  knows  'em  that  would  rattle 
round  in  a  chestnut-burr  — i  all  dried  up,  he  said.  I 
wonder  if  that  is  the  matter  with  his;  something  ails 
it." 

She  burst  into  tears  afresh,  ashamed  of  disloyalty 
to  her  father,  and  tormented  by  the  grief  of  her 
wretched  sister.  'Lisbeth  was  terribly  distressed  and 
beset  somehow  about  souls  and  religion,  mingled  with 
Philip  Harmon  whom  she  did  not  like,  and  John  May- 
hew  whom  she  did. 

"There's  religion,  too,  seems  to  make  more  trouble 
than  souls  if  anything.  I  don't  see  how  it  can;  but 
father  says  that's  what  ails  John,  he  hain't  got  any 
good  for  anything.  I  don't  believe  it  if  father  did 
say  so,  'cause  'tain't  likely  he  knows  everything  if  he 
is  my  father.  If  John's  got  any  religion  it's  good ;  I 
know  'tis,  so  there !  What  do  they  have  more'n  one 
kind  for,  anyway  ?  and  who  knows  which  is  which  ?  " 

She  sat  down  on  a  small  stone,  arid  dropped  her  pained 
head  into  her  hands.  A  persistent  poking  about  her 
arm  and  hands  at  last  called  attention  to  a  pet  lamb 
peering  beneath  her  hood.  She  threw  both  arms  around 
its  neck,  and  held  her  cheek  against  the  soft  wool, 
crying,  — 


278  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

"Oh,  you  don't  have  any  soul,  nor  religion,  nor 
anything  !  How  I  wish  I  was  a  sheep  !  " 

Astonishment  seized -the  flock;  and  it  came  up  in  a 
body,  thrusting  speculative  noses  against  the  red  mit- 
tens and  tear-stained  face  on  'Beth's  neck,  while  Goliah, 
the  solemn  patriarch  of  the  flock,  whose  empire  neither 
boys  nor  restless  house-dog  dare  invade,  expressed  sym- 
pathy by  nibbling  the  curls  that  escaped  from  under 
Dorothy's  hood. 

"If  you're  through  givin'  out  rations,  come  here  an' 
take  these  eggs." 

It  was  Mr.  Wilson  calling  from  the  sheep  barn  with 
dreary  sternness  and  hard  pathos  in  his  voice.  He 
blamed  everybody  but  himself.  He  did  not  know  that 
merciless  retribution  already  ploughed  smarting  furrows 
in  his  bosom.  In  the  hour  since  coming  out  of  his 
house,  that  question,  "  Who  gave  me  to  you  and  why  ?  " 
had  sighed  over  the  bare,  hot  wastes  of  his  soul  like  a 
ghostly  wind,  till  he  ached  for  the  weariness  of  it ;  yet 
still  it  whisked  at  him  from  every  corner,  wailing  down 
from  scaffold  and  up  from  bay. 

Dorothy  gathered  the  eggs;  but  on  one  pretext  or 
another  Mr.  Wilson  kept  her  till  Lettice  tooted  the 
dinner-horn  quite  cheerily,  too  much  so  it  seemed  to 
him  ;  then  himself  and  little  daughter  entered  the  house 
together,  where  most  all  seemed  as  aforetime  at  the 
dinner  hour. 

Lettice  showed  no  ebbing  faculty  in  cookery.     The 


At  Home  and  at  Plymouth  279 

dandelion  greens  were  most  appetizing  and  well-seasoned ; 
in  fact,  the  -dinner  showed  unusual  thought;  and  Mrs. 
Wilson,  very  pale,  to  be  sure,  minded  the  comfort  of 
each  after  her  own  unruffled  fashion. 

One  thing  nearly  upset  him.  'Lisbeth's  place  had 
ever  been  at  his  right  hand  since  she  sat  in  a  little 
wooden  high  chair  ;  but  she  occupied  Dorothy's  seat 
by  her  mother,  —  they  had  exchanged  places.  A  great 
sorrow  smote  him,  as  if  the  girl  were  dead ;  but  he  never 
flinched,  and  only  hugged  his  thistley  robe  the  closer, 
unaware  that  no  heavenly  hand  laid  it  upon  him,  and  in 
similar  manner  the  weeks  sped  by. 

She  never  spoke  to  him  or  when  he  was  within  hear- 
ing. His  footfall  on  the  doorstep  brought  silence,  and 
stifled  her  melody  at  the  wheel,  for  after  a  while  she 
sang  again.  Once  she  failed  to  hear  him,  and  while  he 
waited  shivering  in  the  eastern  lean-to,  finished  a  song. 

"  You  tell  me  I'm  old,  and  my  hair  is  growing  gray, 
But  I  sit  in  the  sunshine  and  watch  you  at  play. 
A  livelier  current  doth  run  through  my  veins, 
And  I  bless  you,  my  children,  again  and  again. 

Ah!  sport  ye  and  wrestle,  be  glad  as  the  sun, 
And  lie  down  to  rest  when  your  pastime  is  done. 
Your  dreams  are  of  sunshine,  of  blossoms  and  dew, 
And  the  God  of  the  blessed  doth  watch  over  you." 

When  May  buds  burst,  trees  and  bushes  bloomed, 
bobolinks  held  picnic  and  wassail  above  emerald  fields, 


280  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

robins  chirruped  among  thick  orchard  boughs,  and  swal- 
lows twittered  under  nesting  barn-eaves,  she  went  to 
Plymouth. 

The  church  worshipping  there  was  formed  at  Hollis 
before  its  earliest  members  left  for  Plymouth.  The  first 
log  meeting-house  was  at  the  hill's  foot,  the  last  two- 
story  structure  crowned  it.  It  looked  far  across  Baker's 
Kiver  and  intervale,  and  watched  the  tides  of  civilization 
as  they  rippled  slowly  up  those  valleys. 

The  last  of  June  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilson  passed  the 
tithing-man,  who  waited  on  the  granite  steps  for  unlucky 
boys,  made  apostate  by  a  stray  chipmunk,  crossed  the 
entry,  by  the  foot  of  the  gallery  stairs,  and  wound  along 
the  narrow  corridors  between  pen-shaped  pews,  till  they 
entered  the  third  one  from  the  pulpit.  Each  pew  had 
seats  on  both  sides,  narrow  boards  on  hinges  they  were, 
so  they  might  be  raised  at  prayer-time,  and  give  a  fam- 
ily room  to  stand  up. 

The  Wilsons  were  soon  followed  by  the  Lanes,  Batch- 
elders,  and  Harmons  from  their  own  neighborhood, 
though  neither  Phil  nor  Eunice  appeared ;  and  by  fami- 
lies scattered  over  many  miles  of  surrounding  farm  coun- 
try, who  filed  in,  subdued  and  sabbath-mannered,  habited 
mostly  in  homespun.  Many  women  carried  daintily  in 
tired  fingers  a  sprig  of  mint  or  camomile,  a  bunch  of 
ladies-delight  or  sweetwilliam,  and  a  little  bead  or 
satin  bag  holding  a  piece  of  sweet-flag  root  or  stick  of 
cinnamon.  Later  arrivals  came  from  the  long  river 


At  Home  and  at  Plymouth  281 

street  and  upland  road,  leading  thence  to  that  fair  hill 
and  hallowed  house.  They  added  a  velvet  coat  or  two, 
with  ruffles,  and  several  blue  broadcloth  ones,  a  few 
silken  gowns  and  embroidered  shawls.  All  possessed  a 
governing  air,  like  an  ascendant  chord  of  character,  and 
some  a  stately  courtesy,  emphasized  that  day  by  Squire 
Livermore  and  other  worshippers  at  the  little  Episcopa- 
lian church  so  green  embowered  and  pastoral  across  the 
river. 

The  deacons  took  their  seats  below  the  pulpit ; 
and  Mr.  Ward,  pale  from  prayerful  vigils,  ascended 
the  narrow  stairs  into  a  small  pulpit  level  with  the 
gallery. 

After  an  invocation,  a  deacon  lined  a  hymn,  which 
was  succeeded  by  a  clang  and  clatter  of  pew  seats  as 
the  congregation  rose  for  prayer.  Mr.  Ward  possessed 
a  superior  gift  that  way,  both  for  length  and  excel- 
lence. 

His  head  barely  showed  above  the  desk  under  the 
great  sounding-board,  while  they  hearkened  to  an  hour 
and  a  half  sermon  very  heedfully ;  more  so,  perhaps, 
when  warmed  by  sunny  airs  than  when  in  winter  they 
relied  on  foot-stoves  and  tough  constitutions.  Noon 
hour  was  spent  grouped  upon  grass-plats,  stones,  or  in 
isolated  pews,  dispensing  and  receiving  news  dear  to 
those  hearts  whose  social  life,  even,  depended  so  much 
on  Sabbath  noonings.  Afternoon  brought  the  same 
routine  of  service,  varied  at  its  close  by  the  town  clerk, 


282  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

who,  midst  the  quiet  that  uniformly  marked  his  rising, 
published  the  intention  of  marriage  between  "Philip 
Harmon  of  Bridgewater  and  Eunice  Bartlett  of  Plym- 
outh. This  is  the  first  time  of  asking." 

There  was  a  flutter  in  the  singers'  seats,  and  sidelong 
glances  at  'Lisbeth  sitting  among  the  trebles,  but  they 
beheld  no  sign.  Farmer  Wilson  frowned  viciously ;  his 

» 

wife  seemed  rested.  When  they  met  in  the  entry'  Lis- 
beth said,  "I  shall  go  home  to-morrow,  mother.  I've 
had  a  lovely  visit." 

Never  a  syllable  did  Mr.  Wilson  utter  on  the  road ; 
but  once  in  a  while  he  struck  the  horse,  and  it  reached 
home,  wet  and  panting,  nearly  a  half-hour  before  time. 
Lettice  rushed  out,  anxiously  inquiring,  — 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  pushing  Lettice  be- 
fore her  into  the  house. 

"  Nothin' !  needn't  tell  me  !  Look  at  that  hoss ;  he's 
a'most  dead." 

"  Sh-sh-sh." 

"Come  in  here."  She  pulled  Mrs.  Wilson  into  the 
pantry.  "  There,  now,  come  ;  something  'bout  'Lisbeth, 
I  know  'tis." 

"  Phil  and  Eunice  are  published." 

"  Cried  in  meetin'  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Youheered  it?" 

"  Yes." 


At  Home  and  at  Plymouth  283 

Lettice's  pale  eyes  grew  handsome,  swimming  in  their 
bath  of  grateful  tears. 

"  I've  been  wicked,  Mis'  Wilson ;  the  Lord  does  take 
care  of  his  own,  an'  I've  been  feared  he  wouldn't.  I 
guess  I've  kinder  backslid,  cordin'  tew  Meth'dists ;  but 
I  won't  agin." 

So  she  pulled  up  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  two 
thankful  women  went  out  into  the  kitchen  together. 

Monday  'Lisbeth  returned,  and  Tuesday  Eunice  vis- 
ited them  all.  While  Lettice  compounded  luscious  cake 
in  honor  of  the  promised  bride,  the  young  girls  went 
up-stairs  and  planned  a  pretty  wedding  dress  of  "  piney 
cloth,"  sheer  and  soft,  which  a  few  days  later  'Lisbeth 
put  upon  the  bride.  In  fact,  Aunt  Seth  said,  — 

"  I'm  perpared  for  most  things  in  this  curus  world ; 
but  this  ere  come  so  sudden,  we  never'd  made  a  decent 
wedding,  nohow,  'cept  for  'Lisbeth.  Phil's  mother  was 
completely  wore  out,  an'  the"y  did  need  somebody  tew 
hold  by,  that's  a  fact;  an'  so  I  told  Phil." 

Mr.  Wilson  never  mentioned  the  subject  nor  any 
matter  relating  to  either  family ;  but  when  Phil  and  his 
bride  made  a  short  wedding  tour  of  a  mile  or  so  from 
her  house  to  his,  they  passed  a  pasture  where  he  was 
driving  oxen  toward  the  bars. 

One  observant  might  have  noticed  honest  old  "  Star  " 
suddenly  snort,  and,  with  tail  in  air,  jump  over  a  tuft  of 
swee,t  fern,  as  if  he  had  been  unexpectedly  thumped  by 
a  stone.  'Lisbeth's  song  grew  more  tuneful  every  day, 


284  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

as  she  spun  wool  or  flax,  or  drove  swift  shuttles  in 
clanging  loom,  or  cared  for  dumb,  helpless  things  in 
coop  or  barn,  or  helpful  ones  at  home  and  abroad. 

Toiling  men,  sweltering  in  her  father's  fields,  whis^ 
tied  cheerily  as  they  mowed  their  swaths,  knowing  her 
hands  would  prepare  them  cooling  drinks ;  nor  once 
doubting  her  remembrance  till  the  last  load  should  be 
stowed  away  among  the  brown  rafters. 

The  reapers,  bronzed  and  sinewy,  blessed  her  where 
they  cut  the  full-eared  grain,  and  the  binders,  following 
after,  as  they  clasped  the  stalks  with  golden  fillets,  and 
stooked  the  heavy  sheaves. 

In  such  manner  did  summer  and  harvest-time  pass  till 
Indian  summer  bathed  the  landscape  in  floods  of  misty, 
mellow  sunlight.  When  the  Academy  opened,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son sent  her  to  her  uncle's  to  stay  until  spring. 

Mr.  Wilson  looked  on  preparations  for  her  departure, 
on  the  vacant  chair  close  to  his  wife  at  table.  She  prof- 
fered no  explanation,  he  asked  none.  In  round-about 
ways  during  the  year,  since  the  sugaring-off,  'Lisbeth 
heard  of  John ;  but  no  other  gossip  of  a  new  love  had 
reached  her  ear,  and  the  incident  had'  long  since  lost  its 
point ;  but  a  supper,  given  by  her  uncle  during  the  spring 
term  of  court,  sharpened  the  memory  of  it. 


Tea  at  Mr.  Baker's  285 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

TEA    AT    MB.    BAKEK's 

TIME  and  again  'Lisbeth  grew  rosy  the  afternoon 
before  the  supper,  while  she  and  Lois  searched  along 
the  eastern  edge  of  the  woods  behind  the  Court  House, 
peering  among  its  beds  of  brown  leaves  for  mayflowers 
and  tender  wood  blooms,  fragile  and  fragrant  as  those 
always  are  that  feel  the  touch  of  springtime's  primal 
dews.  She  schooled  herself  against  any  mention  of 
John's  name,  while  they  hung  partridge  vines  on  sconces 
by  mirrors,  or  pushed  flower-stems  or  half-grown  ferns 
into  damp  mosses  that  filled  low  vases  on  the  dining- 
room  table,  or  made  rose-tinted  bouquets  of  resolute  little 
mayflowers  for  deep  blue  china  vases.  But  try  as  she 
would  her  color  flushed  and  paled  and  grew  deep  again ; 
for  Mr.  Shaw,  into  whose  office  her  lover  went,  and  where 
he  was  then  a  partner,  was  bidden,  and  she  should  hear 
of  him.  Grafton  County  was  famous  for  great  cases 
conducted  by  great  jurists.  Stage-drivers  brought  over 
Thurlow  Hill  and  down  Haverhill  pike  and  landed  at 
the  tavern  men  who  made  its  rafters  ring  with  repartee, 
and  the  old  Court  House  tremble  with  their  mighty  for- 
ensic battles. 

At  early  candlelight  of  the  cool  crisp  evening  they 


286  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

came.  The  sheriff  with  sword  and  belted  like  a  knight 
escorted  the  judge. 

The  squire  and  Mrs.  Baker  received  them,  he  clad  in 
velvet  and  fine  ruffles,  she  in  heavy  brocade  and  filmy 
lace  cap  daintily  bowed  with  the  faintest  rose-tinted 
ribbon.  It  was  enough  that  the  young  girls  lived  and 
moved  and  had  a  being,  nor  could  any  surely  conclude 
which  was-comelier,  she  with  the  steadfast  face,  or  the 
other  one  so  full  of  pulsing  life. 

The  blessing  craved  at  the  table  by  Mr.  Ward  was 
quite  like  a  prayer  for  the  Court,  and  no  one  of  those 
companionable  men  who  composed  the  party  needed 
Mistress  Baker's  drawing  of  green  tea  to  develop  their 
social  gifts  and  graces. 

Anecdote,  argument,  sharp  sally,  and  witty  rejoinder 
followed  fast  and  long.  When  some  paused  they  heard 
Sullivan's  bell-cadenced  tones  explaining  sylvan  lore  to 

• 

'Lisbeth,  who  sat  beside  him. 

Peabody  Rogers  improved  the  opportunity  to  in- 
quire, — 

"  Mr.  §haw,  allow  me  to  ask  if  you  are  related  to  the 
man  into  whose  office  John  May  hew  went  ?  " 

"  He  is  with  me." 

"  Ah,  with  you  ?  " 

"  Our  partner  at  present,  sir." 

"  Excellent !  Mr.  Baker,  we  all  supposed  he  was  to 
stay  with  you." 

"I  so  intended,"  he  replied,  venturing  no  further 
explanation,  hoping  to  end  the  talk. 


Tea  at  Mr.  Baker's  287 

"  I  heard,"  said  Mr.  Livermore,  "  that  he  was  under 
some  cloud  on  account  of  being  a  Methodist  —  people 
disapproved,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

"  It  would  make  no  difference  to  me,"  answered  the 
squire. 

Mr.  Sullivan  intuitively  felt  the  slow  withdrawal  of 
his  listener  from  discussing  fragile  wood  blossoms,  and 
noted  an  anxious  expression  creep  over  the  fair  face 
beside  him. 

All  the  romance  and  chivalry  of  his  quick  Irish  blood 
sprang  to  arms  against  Mayhew. 

"  He  ought  to  come  home  for  a  wife,"  ventured  Harry 
Hibbard,  glancing  across  to  sparkling  Lois.  Mr.  Shaw 
observed  no  sign  of  love  in  that  happy  girl,  so  he  an- 
swered carelessly,  — 

"  He  will  not  need  to." 

"  Ah  !  found  one  ?  " 

Judge  Livermore,  while  trying  a  referee  case  at  Bris- 
tol, heard  somewhat  of  the  gossip  sown  by  Huldah  and 
her  friend,  which  so  nearly  soured  Mrs.  Lane's  sugaring 
party ;  so,  quickened  by  the  conversation,  he  inquired  at 
that  unlucky  moment,  — 

"Did  I  not  hear  some  prediction  that  he  might  be- 
come your  son-in-law  ?  " 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Mr.  Shaw,  quite  amused.  "Cer- 
tainly no  man  could  have  a  better  one,  but  he  might 
choose  from  many." 

«  Gay,  eh  ?  " 


288  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  No  ;  companionable  and  a  gentleman  born." 

Conversation  drifted  away  from  Mayhew ;  but  after 
the  guests  returned  to  the  fbreroom,  Sullivan  crossed 
over  to  Shaw,  who  was  left  alone,  and  demanded  impa- 
tiently, but  quietly,  — 

"  Who  is  this  Mayhew  ?  " 

"  The  son  of  worthy  parents,  and  for  the  rest  such  as 
you  have  heard." 

"I'm  afraid  he  is  a  puppy." 

"  What ! " 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  his  worthiness." 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  word  ?  This  temper  is  not  like 
you,  Sullivan,  but  I  am  slow  to  take  offence  if  none  is 
intended." 

"  I  know  you  have  no  child,  but  how  true  is  this  in- 
fernal babble  ?  Tell  me,  and  believe  I  do  not  ask  out 
of  mere  curiosity." 

"  Not  correct  at  all  that  I  am  aware  of ;  but  I  honestly 
hope  he  will  marry  soon,  and  I  urge  it.  He  needs  a 
home." 

"  I  hope  he  does  not  need  a  horsewhipping,  and  isn't 
a  natural  born  idiot." 

"  Horsewhipping  John  Mayhew  would  be  peculiar 
sport,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Sullivan ;  but  what  is  the  mat- 
ter, retained  in  a  breach  of  promise  suit  ?  Your  tes- 
timony is  wide  of  the  mark,  let  it  be  what  it  will." 

"I  never  heard  of  him  in  my  life  till  to-night." 

"  Now  I  see.     Whew  !     Jupiter !  thinking  of  Squire 


Tea  at  Mr.  Baker's  289 

Baker's  daughter.  I  looked  her  way  before  saying  a 
word.  She  don't  care  a  rap.  You  cannot  suppose  that 
other  girl  laughing  with  Mason  is  broken-hearted.  Jove  ! 
Mind  that  graceful  and  proud  way  of  hers.  I  wonder  if 
May  hew  ever  saw  her." 

"  He  studied  with  Squire  Baker.     She  is  his  niece." 

"Why  is  she  here,  Mr.  Sullivan  ?  " 

"  Her  father  lives  some  distance  out  of  the  village,  so 
she  stays  here  to  attend  the  Academy.  They  say  she 
reads  Latin  well,  and  keeps  the  young  fellows  on  their 
taps  in  mathematics." 

"  Squire  Baker's  daughter  in  school  also  ?  " 

"  I  hear  so." 

Mr.  Shaw  eyed  General  Sullivan  quizzically  before  re- 
marking, — 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  Mr.  Sullivan,  you  have  picked  up 
considerable  information,  and  I  should  like  to  hear  who 
were  the  witnesses." 

"  Oh,  this  afternoon  I  asked  Mr.  Bliss  about  Squire 
Baker's  family." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  one  thing  more  if  you  thought 
to  inquire.  However  do  such  women  and  girls  grow 
way  up  among  these  hills  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  blossoming  of  mighty  roots,  Mr.  Shaw, 
and  thrive  as  flowers  do  sheltered  by  cliffs.  Lovely, 
yes  ;  but  it  is  character  which  makes  them  so  attractive. 
See  Mistress  Baker  there,  her  manners  are  gentle  as 
falling  rose  leaves ;  but  I  warrant  if  one  traversed  her 


290  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

conscience  one  would  find  granite  solid  under  gracious- 
ness.  So  with  those  girls,  beautiful  and  delicate,  but 
reliant,  able  to  stand  by  themselves." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  sit  on  the  fence  to-morrow  and 
see  the  Academy  girls  come  out ;  meantime  let  us  go 
and  talk  to  this  part  of  them,  if  they  will  condescend." 

Mr.  Rogers  was  just  coining  up  to  'Lisbeth ;  so  they 
stopped  near-by  where  Lois  stood,  not  unwilling  either, 
for  the  dash  and  spirit  of  her  character  was  very  telling 
through  the  veil  of  severely  courteous  manners.  She 
was  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Shaw,  having  since  supper  de- 
termined to  find  out  more  as  to  John  Mayhew  and  his 
suspected  sweetheart. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  you,  Mr.  Shaw ;  for  I  wish  to 
inquire  after  a  student  of  father's  who  is  now  in  your 
office. 

"  Indeed,  Mayhew  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good  fellow,  first-rate,  and  good  lawyer  too ;  but  he 
forgot  something  when  he  went  from  here." 

"  Did  he  ?  I'm  so  sorry.  Do  you  know  what  it  was  ? 
and  did  he  send  for  it  ?  for  father  will  bring  it  from  his 
aunt's  if  you  wish." 

"  He  did  not  ask  me  to  bring  it,  but  I  will  think  it 
over.  I  presume  he  made  love  to  some  of  these  Acad- 
emy girls." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Shaw,  really,  what  if  he  did  ?  didn't  you 
say  he  is  going  to  marry  one  from  Boston  ?  " 


Tea  at  Mr.  Baker's  291 

"Not  quite  so  strong  as  that.  I  only  declared  my 
willingness  to  become  his  father-in-law  if  such  a  thing 
were  possible." 

Lois  was  daintily  saucy  as  she  perched  her  head  on 
one  side  inquiringly,  — 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  well,  Mr.  Shaw,  what  are  the  chances  ?  " 

"  Poor,  very ;  in  fact,  there  are  none." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Yes  ;  while  I  may  be  willing  to  suit  my  friends  who 
mention  it,  Judge  Livermore  and  the  rest,  the  idea  has 
never  occurred  to  Mayhew,  I'll  be  bound." 

Mr.  Sullivan  was  delighted  as  a  lover  when  the 
shadow  he  alone  had  noted  fled  from  'Lisbeth,  and  Lois, 
her  true-love  quest  completed,  recalled  the  forgotten 
belongings. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Shaw,  as  to  that  bundle  John  left,  cannot 
we  plan  it  some  way  ?  Let's  see ;  we  will  make  it  small 
as  possible,  and  give  it  to  one  of  our  stage-drivers ;  he 
will  see  to  it,  I  know,  so  it  won't  trouble  you  a  mite." 

"  You  cannot  crush  it,  and  I  wouldn't  trust  it  on  the 
driver's  seat,  anyway." 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  under  the  seat  it  would  be  entirely 
safe." 

"  It  won't  go  under  the  seat ;  and,  besides,  I  should  be 
sure  to  steal  it." 

"  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Shaw  "  - 

"  It  is  no  use,"  and  a  deprecating  smile  passed  over 
his  fine  face  as  he  shook  his  head. 


292  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

«But"  — 

"My  dear  young  lady,  do  not  insist.  I  cannot  be 
trusted,  and  lie  must  come.  He  should  have  been  here 
long  before  now." 

"  That  is  too  bad,  for  he  must  -need  it." 

"  He  does  terribly ;  I  told  you  so,  but  I  cannot  carry 
it.  My  dear  Miss  Baker,  the  parcel  is  a  wife,  and  —  I 
am  a  bachelor." 

"  Oh  !  oh,  dear  me  !  " 

A  hearty  laugh  all  around  covered  Lois's  confusion ; 
and  Mr.  Shaw  remarked,  — 

"  Here  is  a  viol,  who  plays  ?  " 

"  My  father  does,"  answered  Lois. 

'.'  And  who  sings  ?  " 

"  Both  of  these  young  ladies  certainly,"  replied  Mr. 
Rogers.  The  request  for  music  became  general ;  and 
Mr.  Baker  ran  over  the  strings  a  moment,  then  played 
while  the  young  girls  sang  the  song  of  "  Ruth :  " 

"She  stood  breast  high  'mid  the  corn, 
Clasped  by  golden  lights  of  morn, 
Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun, 
Who  a  glowing  kiss  hath  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  autumn  flush 
Deeply  ripened  —  such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  born, 
Like  red  poppies  grown  with  corn. 

And  her  hat  with  shady  brim 
Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim; 


Tea  at  Mr.  Baker's  293 

Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stocks, 
Praising  God  with  all  her  looks. 

'  Sure,'  he  said,  '  Heaven  did  not  mean 
Where  I  reap  thou  shouldst  but  glean  ; 
Lay  thy  sheaves  adown,  and  come, 
Share  my  harvest  and  my  home.' " 

"  I  declare,"  said  Shaw  to  Sullivan,  for  they  still  were 
side  by  side,  "  I  do  declare,  I  can't  imagine  why  May- 
hew  does  not  propose  to  one  of  those  girls,  or  did  not 
when  he  was  here.  Jove !  I  guess  he  can't  decide 
which  to  ask,  but  he  might  shut  his  eyes  and  take  the 
chances." 

"  Perhaps  neither  would  listen." 
"  I  don't  believe  it,  and  I'll  ask  him." 
"  Do ;  if  his  memory  needs  a  jog  it  might  be  effectual." 
"  Sullivan,  you  make  rne  laugh.     As  if  " 
The  music  struck   up  again   and  continued   till   ten 
o'clock,  a  belated  hour  for  taking  leave,  excusable  only 
because  of  distinguished  visitors  and  the  infrequency  of 
such  social  opportunities.     After  all  sang  "Auld  Lang 
Syne,"  the  good-nights  were  reluctantly  spoken. 


294  'Lisbeth  Wilson 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

MR.   HOLMES    BUYS    LUMBER 

'LISBETH  went  to  her  room  happy,  for  Mr.  Shaw  had 
no  daughter,  she  heard  him  say  so ;  and  the  stars  shin- 
ing through  the  muslin  curtains  twinkled  gayly  down,  as 
if  they  understood,  while  she  toned  a  low  song  as  she 
brushed  her  soft  hair. 

In  a  few  weeks  she  returned  home,  and  all  summer 
long  followed  the  same  helpful,  patient  way  as  afore- 
time. Blessings  from  toilers  in  field  and  house  fell 
upon  her,  even  as  during  the  first  season. 

But  there  was  a  change,  indefinable  at  first,  that 
shaped  itself  gradually  into  radical  unhappiness.  Hul- 
dah's  sugaring-off  tattle  seemed  to  die  for  a  year,  and 
then  was  planted  anew  as  it  were,  just  about  the  time 
of  her  home  coming. 

Huldah  sighed  more  than  ever ;  she  wore  the  willow 
constantly,  and  mourned  Mayhew's  short-comings  at 
self-invited  visits  to  each  house  round  about.  Her  har- 
rowing sighs  and  rueful  chatter  plainly  disturbed  her 
listeners,  though  she  stoutly  affirmed  disbelief  of  the 
traducements  that  she  scattered.  Work  was  varied  by 
long  speculations  and  debate  concerning  John  and  'Lis- 
beth. Women  visiting  hardly  put  on  their  caps  and 


Mr.  Holmes  Buys  Lumber  295 

fastened  their  knitting  sheaths  before  commencing  the 
argument. 

The  question  whether  herbs  dried  best  spread  on 
shelves  or  hanging  head  downward  from  nails,  the  com- 
parative merits  of  spruce  and  root  beer,  old  Hannah 
Bisbee's  rheumatism  and  young  Hannah's  flirtations, 
the  compounding  of  all  household  luxuries  and  medica- 
ments, were,  each  and  several,  mingled  with  chit-chat  as 
to  them. 

Also  a  new  factor  was  added  to  the  general  sum  in 
the  person  of  Mr.  Isaiah  Holmes,  who  lived  over  toward 
Cockermouth  Eiver;  a  man  of  easy,  confidential  ways, 
a  widower  about  forty  years  old,  of  medium  height, 
rather  stout,  and  quite  bald.  He  had  a  fresh  complex- 
ion, smooth  round  face,  and  light  blue  eyes,  large  and 
pleasant,  but  scarcely  steady.  He  was  a  born  sup- 
planter. 

The  year  before  he  wished  to  go  to  General  Court, 
and  began  the  canvass  by  assuring  the  only  candidate 
who  had  been  mentioned  that  he  was  for  him.  He  so 
assured  everybody  else,  and  extolled  the  other  man, 
slyly  adding,  "  Some  threaten  not  to  vote  for  him ;  but 
I'm  a  Democrat  dyed  in  the  wool,  and  always  vote  my 
ticket."  Again,  as  caucus  drew  near,  he  told  what  he 
would  do  and  would  not  do  if  he  were  a  candidate,  till 
finally,  much  to  his  surprise  he  averred,  he  was  put  up 
at  the  last  moment,  and  carried  the  caucus  ten  to  one. 

No  sooner  had  John  gone  than  he  mentally  appropri- 


296  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

ated  'Lisbeth,  the  choicest  girl  of  all  adjacent  tribes,  to 
himself.  He  felt  conscious  of  honoring  her  exceedingly 
in  so  doing,  and  immediately  planned  to  bring  the  dis- 
tinction into  favorable  light  with  her. 

His  business  was  buying  flaxseed,  peltry,  and  lum- 
ber; so  he  ran  in  one  day,  cool,  suave,  to  see  if  Mr.  Wil- 
son had  any  timber  for  sale,  and  found  he  owned  a 
good  many  oaks  beyond  the  pinnacle  in  the  sheep-pas- 
ture woods,  that  were  judged  very  good  for  staves.  It 
was  exactly  what  he  wanted,  so  he  said,  —  excellent 
market  for  cooper's  materials  ;  so  his  horse  was  put  up, 
and  he  partook  of  dinner  before  the  long  tramp  to  the 
woods. 

Of  course  he  bought  all  the  oak  timber,  for  it  excused 
frequent  visits  to  see  it. 

He  often  spoke  in  praise  of  John  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
Lettice.  The  wily  maid  observed  that  he  soon  began  to 
tip  his  phrases  with  hard  points,  like  the  snapper  on  a 
whip. 

One  day  she  questioned  him  a  little :  — 
"  You've  been  tew  Boston  lately  ?  " 
"  Oh,  yes ;  I  go  reg'lar  twice  a  year  or  so." 
"  Do  you  know  anything  ag'in  John  Mayhew  ?  " 
"  Why,    bless   me,  no,  I   don't !     It   isn't   against   a 
handsome  man  that   he's  having  a  good   time,   is  it  ? 
You  can't  expect  anything  else." 

"  'Pends  on  what  you  call  a  good  time.  Is  he 
runnin'  round  with  good-for-nothin'  fellers,  an'  takin' 
tew  their  ways  ?  " 


Mr.  Holmes  Buys  Lumber  297 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  said  he  carelessly;  "but  he's  in 
with  some  pretty  high  bucks,  or  that's  what  I  hear. 
John  is  bright  and  snappy,  and  a  fav'rite  natchully." 

Lettice  gave  a  curiovis  look  after  him  as  he  went  out, 
and  commenced  humming. 

Some  time  after  he  met  Huldah  on  his  way  to  the 
oaks,  and  they  stopped  to  chat  by  the  wayside.  She 
questioned  him  about  John,  and  he  told  her  some  things 
worried  him.  It  was  rumored  that  John  was'  going  on 
pretty  fast,  and  he  guessed  he  was  flirting,  if  nothing 
more.  Mr.  Holmes  claimed  to  believe  little  of  the 
reports  himself;  but  then,  "Where  there  was  so  much 
smoke  there  must  be  some  fire." 

Huldah  sniffed  and  sighed  before  asserting  that  some 
of  the  neighbors  were  concluding  Holmes's  oak  timber 
bargain  preluded  another. 

He  made  no  direct  reply,  but  fingered  his  watch-chain 
like  a  young  boy  caught  naming  apples  all  by  himself. 
Then  he  oh'd  a  little,  and  bade  the  spinster  good-day, 
putting  no  negation  to  rising  gossip. 

Huldah  folded  her  thin  shawl  closely  about  her  thin 
arms,  crumpled  her  forehead  into  sanctimonious  furrows, 
;i:nl  \vent  her  way,  to  repeat  what  she  chose. 

She  declared  she  knew  some  things  if  she  could  only 
speak  of  them  ;  but  she  never  had  related  confidences 
imparted  to  her,  and  never  should. 

Thus  noxious  weeds  were  fostered,  which  throve  along 
with  Canada  thistles  and  burdocks,  till,  by  the  time  one 


298  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

ripened,  the  other  opened  its  tiny  seed-pods,  and  black- 
tipped,  feathery  falsehoods  flew  all  about. 

'Lisbeth  became  oppressed  by  such  environments. 
She  knew  gossip  of  all  sorts  kept  more  or  less  company 
with  bundles  of  warp  and  rilling  carried  to  Mrs. 
Willard's  loom ;  so  she  went  over  one  late  afternoon 
and  found  Euth  under  the  maples  netting  a  fine  towel, 
who  started  up  at  sight-  of  such  a  troubled  face. 

"  Why,  'Lisbeth,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I've  come  to  talk,  if  I  can ;  but  don't  say  a  word. 
Let  me  think  a  moment." 

She  pushed  Euth  back  into  a  low  chair,  and  sat  on 
the  grass  leaning  against  her.  On  one  side  the  brook 
gurgled  over  stones  and  shallow  reaches,  on  the  other 
floated  a  subdued  cadence  of  treadle  and  loom. 

"I  am  waiting,"  Euth  said,  after  a  long  while.  'Lis- 
beth answered,  — 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Euth." 

"  You  don't  mean  " 

"Yes,  I  do;  all,  every  bit." 

"  0  'Lisbeth,  it  is  not  true  !     Eichard  says  so." 

"Whispers  come  to  me,  and  people  drop  what  they 
are  saying  as  I  go  near.  Why  do  they?  Tell  me, 
Euth,  for  I  can  ask  no  one  else." 

So  she  heard  the  plain  truth,  and  sat  clasping  her 
head  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands  till  the  shadows  grew 
long  on  her  father's  meadow,  then  gravely  said,  — 

"  I  am  satisfied  marrying  a  Boston  girl  would  be  best 
for  him." 


Mr.  Holmes  Buys  Lumber  299 

"  I  know  it  wouldn't.  Nobody  can  tell  where  these 
rumors  start ;  it  seems  as  though  Huldah  carries  them 
round  in  her  reticule.  You  must  not  say  that  again. 
It  is  not  best." 

"  Saying  so  does  not  prove  it." 

"  He  loves  you,  Elizabeth  Wilson ;  that  is  why>  and 
reason  a-plenty  too." 

"  There  are  two  of  us  now  to  go  on  in  this  wretched 
way ;  half  the  misery  would  be  saved  if  this  were 
true." 

"  Would  it  ?  The  last  time  I  saw  John  May  hew  he 
had  a  conscience ;  and  he  loves  you,  I  say,  Elizabeth 
Wilson.  I  declare  for  it,  I  don't  know  what  ails  you. 
Seems  as  if  you  were  turning  into  stone." 

"  I  feel  like  a  rock  sometimes.  Ruth,  you  don't  know 
all.  Father  has  never  spoken  to  me  since  Phil  rode  by 
with  Eunice  more  than  a  year  ago.  If  this  should  hap- 
pen," she  was  white  as  ashes,  and  the  words  fell  hard  as 
hail  on  the  listener,  "  maybe  in  time,  not  now,  ever  so 
long  after  to-day,  I  might  marry  to  please  father ;  and 
the  other,  hearing,  would  feel  shriven  of  his  broken 
oath." 

'Lisbeth  stared  desolately  into  the  road,  as  if  she  had 
flung  the  fragments  of  her  life  there  to  be  bruised  by 
every  passing  wheel. 

"Well,  I  never  !"  exclaimed  Ruth.  " Marry  Holmes, 
I  s'pose.  Mother  thinks  he  is  full  half  to  blame  for  all 
this  tattle.  You  have  thought  and  thought  till  you  can- 


300  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

not  think  at  all.  Father  Benson  preached  last  Sabbath 
about  tempting  ourselves,  —  just  exactly  what  you  are 
doing." 

"  Duty  would  be  something  if  he  fails." 

"  Duty  !  don't  crawl  behind  that." 

Ku-th  leaned  forward,  and  took  'Lisbeth,  on  whom  she 
had  always  leaned,  by  the  shoulders,  giving  her  an  ener- 
getic shake,  saying,  — 

"  It  is  a  blind  struggle  picking  out  things  in  the  dark ; 
but  you've  got  it  to  do,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  it. 
Find  out  where  duty  is.  Promise  me.  I'm  frightened 
when  you  look  so.  Promise." 

'Lisbeth  nodded ;  and  Euth  rose,  took  a  towel,  soft  and 
old,  she  had  been  using  for  a  pattern  to  net  by,  led 
'Lisbeth  to  the  brook,  and  bathed  her  swollen  eyes. 

"  There  !  go  in  and  see  mother.  I'll  pick  up  these 
towels,  but  don't  wait." 

She  had  thrown  them  over  her  arm  when  a  scratching 
of  claws  over  rotten  logs,  and  crunching  of  dry  twigs 
under  foot,  directed  her  attention  to  the  King  and  his 
hounds. 

"  Hi !  pups,  don't  run  over  the  gal,"  cried  he,  loping 
across  the  brook  on  large  stones.  "  Hello,  Kuth,  how 
be  ye  ?  I  see  'Lisbeth  scootin'  through  the  door. 
Whew  !  Peppery  weather,  ain't  it  ?  " 

."  Very  warm,  Mr.  King.  How  did  you  coax  the  trout 
to  bite  ?  " 

"  Went  up  tew  them  deep  trout  holes  in  the  woods : 


Mr.  Holmes  Buys  Lumber  301 

they  bit  like  Samhide,  an'  so  did  the  skeeters,  darn 
'ein ;  I've  had  plaguey  good  luck.  Give  these  tew  your 
mother ;  I  strung  'em  purpose  for  her  ;  guess  they'll 
taste  kinder  good." 

Ruth  carried  the  trout,  strung  on  a  crotched  stick,  to 
her  mother,  while  the  angler  sauntered  below  the  bridge, 
remarking  to  his  dogs,  — 

"  Ruth's  been  cry  in'.  She  didn't  want  me  tew  go  in, 
for  all  she  asked  me  so  nice.  Why  ?  'Cause  t'other 
one  cried  too.  Now,  what  for  ? 

"I'll  bet  a  fish-hook  it's  this  ere  tattlin',  an'  I've 
s'pected  it ;  allus  a  winkin'  an'  pullin'  gowns,  a  yankin' 
apuns,  an'  passin'  snuff  when  she  runs  in,  jest  as 
though  she  didn't  sense  when  she  sees  half  a  dozen 
heads  together,  an'  Huldy  talkin'  low  an'  confidin',  that 
them  wimen  wa'nt  goin'  on  bout  the  catechism.  I  tole 
John  I'd  ketch  onto  things  as  ort  tew  be  seen  tew,  an'  I 
will. 

"  There  ain't  a  decent  fish  hole  within  forty  rods,  but 
I  guess  I  can  yank  this  ere  hook  round  mongst  stones 
an'  gravel  if  I  want  tew." 

He  sat  on  a  rock  dangling  his  line  till  'Lisbeth  started 
homeward,  then  wound  it  round  the  birch  rod  and  hur- 
ried after.  As  he  loped  down  the  little  barn  hill  after 
giving  half  his  fish  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  he  gave  an  opinion 
to  his  companions,  — 

"Yes,  I  was  right.  Thunderation,  how  queer  folks 
are!" 


302  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

To  'Lisbeth  it  did  seem  as  if  new  complications 
trapped  her  day  by  day.  After  the  house  was  still, 
save  for  the  chirping  of  crickets,  she  knelt  before  her 
window  in  the  moonbeams.  She  had  weighed  duty 
towards  her  father  and  lover,  and  was  further  bound  to 
stern  searching  of  obligation  selfward. 

She  was  an  entity,  an  atom  tethered  to  life  by  spirit- 
ual essence,  alone  in  responsibility,  alone  in  accounta- 
bility, sole  respondent  at  the  last  assize  for  deeds  done 
in  the -body. 

She  peered  far  out  into  the  night,  questioning.  After 
a  grievous  time  she  caught  an  answer,  wafted  in  on  mel- 
low moonbeams  from,  the  steadfast  darkness  of  sleeping 

woods  and  the  upholding  strength  of  holy  hills,  and  at 

* 
last  she  slept,  conqueror,  under  a  Great  Captain  whose 

legions  still  parted  the  conscious  air. 


THE    KING    TAKES    A    SAMPLE    TO    MARKET 

THE  first  week  in  October  the  King  dug  a  few  pota- 
toes, then  leaned  on  his  hoe,  hitched  up  his  "  galluses," 
squinted  at  the  hazy  sky,  and  remarked  to  his  son,  — 

"  Dave,  it  'pears  like  a  spell  of  good  weather ;  an'  you 
must  dig  these  taters,  for  I've  got  other  fish  tew  fry. 
I've  been  waitin'  for  this  Injin  summer." 


The  King  Takes  a  Sample  to  Market        303 

"  Plaguey  lot  of  taters  for  all  alone." 

"  The  gals'll  help  pick  'em  up." 

He  wasted  no  breath,  but  loped  into  the  kitchen,  took 
a  big  yellow  pitcher  with  crinkled  gray  stripes  around 
it  into  the  cellar  and  brought  it  back  full. 

"  Good  time  tew  pull  beets,  an'  sich,"  said  dame 
Nabby,  tilting  to  and  fro  on  the  hind  legs  of  a  kitchen 
chair  and  doubling  yarn,  one  thread  white,  one  blue, 
for  winter  feeting.  No  answer;  and  she  wound  more 
slowly,  turning  questioning  eyes  to  the  chimney-corner 
where  her  husband  was  busy  with  pitcher  and  pipe, 
winking  slowly  and  thoughtfully  at  intervals. 

Her  chair  came  forward  with  a  bang,  but  he  gave  no 
sign  of  hearing. 

"  Say,  be  you  goin'  tew  git  them  beets  an'  garden  sass 
in  outen  the  frost,  David  ?  They'll  spile,  ev'ry  one  of 
'em." 

The  Egyptian  Sphinx  is  not  more  dumb  and  unheed- 
ing. She  knew  his  moods,  and  made  no  further  effort  to 
break  the  silence.  After  a  while  he  rose,  took  a  favor- 
ite gun  down  from  the  hooks,  examined,  and  carefully 
wiped  it  with  a  piece  of  buckskin,  oiled,  and  set  it  up 
against  the  doorpost,  with  butt  upon  the  doorstep. 
The  hounds  sniffed,  trotted  smartly  out  and  squatted 
down  alongside,  while  their  master  gazed  out  of  the 
south  window  at  nothing  for  a  short  time,  went  across 
the  room,  drank  a  gourdful  of  water,  and  faced  about, 
saying,  — 


304  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Lay  my  best  clo'es  on  the  bed,  Nabby." 

"What ! "     The  streaked  ball  fell  into  her  lap. 

"Don't  holler  so;  the  folks  '11  think  we're  a-fire." 

"  What'n  creation  be  you  goin'  tew  dew,  David  ?  " 

"  Take  a  jaunt." 

"  Jaunt !  A  tew-year-old  boy  ain't  f riskier'n  you 
'pear  tew  be.  Where  is  it  you  be  goin'  ?  " 

"  Can't  tell  for  sartin ;  must  see  'bout  tradin'  pelts. 
Beechnuts  and  ilenuts  air  thick  as  spatters,  an'  breast 
bones  of  chickens  don't  have  skurcely  a  dark  spot  in 
'em ;  wile  geese  and  swallers  went  south  airly ;  beavers 
air  diggin'  down  intew  the  groun' ;  coons  air  fatter'n 
ever  I  see  'em ;  an'  squirrils  have  double  coats  of  fur, 
same  with  foxes.  It's  goin'  tew  be  a  rippin'  winter 
for  huntin'  an'  trappin'." 

"  Good  land  !  you  dew  have  spells  of  bein'  crazier'n  a 
loon." 

"I'm  clear  as  a  bell,  an'  springy  as  a  new  trap, 
mother,"  he  remarked  cheerily: 

"  Who's  tew  fetch  in  the  corn  fodder,  an'  pull  beets 
an'  turnups,  an'  the  rest  of  the  garden  truck  ?  " 

"  Dave  an'  the  gals.     It's  healthy  work  for  'em." 

"Dave  an'  all  of  us  can't  lift  that  great  green  cart- 
tongue  to  the  staple." 

"  Pull  the  seat  outen  the  waggon,  an'  hitch  the  ole 
hoss  in." 

"Spile  the  waggon  —  make  it  pison  dirty." 

"  Cracky,    Nabby,    you    ain't     so     dretful    helpless. 


The  King  Takes  a  Sample  to  Market         305 

Spread  the  ole  blue  coveiiits  intew  it  jist  as  you've 
done  hundreds  of  times.  Now  stop  fussin'  an'  git 
my  things." 

She  hurried  into  the  small  bedroom,  and  he  heard  a 
click  of  the  cedar  chest  and  clatter  of  brass-handled 
drawers  before  she'  came  out. 

"  There  they  be  on  the  bed.  Git  intew  them  quick  if 
you're  goin',  an'  not  wait  till  sundown." 

Very  soon  the  teapot  was  spluttering  on  live  embers, 
and  a  'wholesome  morning  luncheon  was  ready  by  the 
time  Mr.  King  emerged,  cleanly  shaven,  clad  in  blue  full 
cloth  suit  with  brass  buttons.  He  always  wore  pants 
a  trifle  short,  but  the  cowhide  boots  were  soft  and  new. 

"  Better  put  my  razor  intew  the  game  bag,  an'  my  best 
black  stock." 

"  Why  don't  you  wear  the  stock  ?  " 

"  Chokes  when  you're  trampin'.  I'm  goin'  tew  wear 
a  frock  over  this  coat,  'cause  I'm  likely  tew  sheer  off 
intew  the  woods  any  minnit.  I  can  stuff  it  intew  the 
pouch  when  I  don't  want  it." 

"  How'll  one  of  them  blue  mixed  ones  do  ?  They're 
thin  and  light." 

"Jest  the  checker." 

He  ate  heartily,  pulled  his  frock  on,  set  a  rather 
seedy  high  hat  on  his  head,  threw  the  gun  to  his 
shoulder,  and,  followed  by  the  hounds,  started  through 
air  heavy  with  odors  of  forest,  and  hum  of  droning 
bees. 


306  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  See  that  big  feller  on  the  chiny-oyster,  Nabby. 
How  I'd  like  tew  line  the  yellow  imp  home ! " 

"  Better,  father,"  hurriedly  she  suggested. 

"Can't.  Eeady  tew  go,  an'  I'm  goin'.  Guess  I'll 
stay  at  your  sister  Mary's  down  tew  Bristol  to-night." 

"  S'pose  you'll  go  fur  as  Concord  ?  " 

"Yes,  I'm  goin'  tew  scurry  roun'  in  the  woods  an' 
take  a  sample  to  show  what  coats  the  critters  air 
wear  in'.  I  sha'n't  stop  short  of  there,  'tain't  likely." 

"  When'll  you  be  home,  David  ?  " 

A  peculiar  solicitous  gaze  after  the  question  pained 
him ;  but  he  replied  bravely,  — 

"I  dunno.  Mebbe  bein'  so  near,  I  shall  run  down 
tew  Derry field  an'  catch  a  salmon,  for  ole  times." 

"Why,  David !  you  won't  be  back  for  a  month." 

"  P'r'aps  not.  I'm  goin'  tew  sorter  hold  a  pertracted 
meetin'  'long  of  ole  friends  in  the  woods  an'  out.  All 
on  ye  keep  chipper." 

He  pushed  along  at  a  dog-trot,  leaving  them  at  the 
potato  field ;  but  just  before  entering  the  thick  woods  he 
turned  and  beheld  his  wife  shading  her  eyes  with  one 
arm,  and  the  children  around  her.  The  old  man  choked ; 
for  he  loved  that  tranquil  spot  and  plain  family,  even  to 
the  every-day  good-natured  naggings  between  himself 
and  his  true-hearted  wife.  In  the  distance  they  seemed 
beautiful  to  his  constant  heart.  He  swung  his  hat,  and 
receiving  an  answering  salute,  drew  a  rough  sleeve 
across  his  eyes,  saying  to  the  dogs,  "  Darn  it  all,  we've 


The  King  Takes  a  Sample  to  Market        307 

got  tew  go,"  and  disappeared  behind  the  hemlocks, 
darker  than  was  their  wont,  because  sumachs  waved 
crimson  plumes  here  and  there  among  their  green 
ranks.  He  brought  down  a  squirrel  with  his  old 
Queen's-arm,  and  went  directly  to  "  Aunt  Mary's,"  leav- 
ing there  the  following  Monday  when  the  gray  skin 
was  quite  dry. 

A  stage  rolled  and  bumped  up  just  after  he  started ; 
and  the  driver  called,  "  Hello,  where  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  Down  the  road  a  piece." 

"  Fur  as  Concord  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Git  up  here ;  stick  them  dogs  'long  of  the  band- 
boxes." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Marden,  pointing  at 
the  gray  tail. 

"  End  of  a  sample." 

"  Where  you  goin'  with  it  ?  " 

"Tew  Boston." 

"  Whew !  git  out ;  you  ain't  travellin'  there  with  one 
squirrel  skin  ?  " 

"  Pooh  !  you  kin  rein  six  horses  on  a  dead  run  down 
hill,  keepin'  this  ole  ark  swingin'  an'  pitchiii'  'tween  the 
gutters,  an'  pull  up  at  the  foot  'thout  a  dead  critter,  nur 
a  strap  broke ;  but  you  don't  understan'  fur,  les  you'd 
know  this  stingy  bit  is  jest  as  good  as  a  sled  load." 

"Well,  I  vum  if  I  b'leve  you're  goin'  to  Boston  for 
nothin'  but  that ;  no,  I  don't." 


308  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"I'm  goin'  there,  an'  I'm  goin'  tew  kerry  this  pelt, 
'thout  one  of  us  gits  lost." 

"  Carry  it  and  be  blessed  ;  but  tell  us  a  story." 

From  then  till  after  sunset,  when  the  stage  drew  up 
at  Gasses,  he  beguiled  the  road  with  stories  of  hunting 
and  fishing  as  they  passed  hills  and  mountain,  merry 
running  brook,  and  beautiful  intervales,  warm  and  won- 
drous with  autumn  dyes.  He  hung  around  Harden 
while  the  horses  were  being  unhitched  till  he  found  a 
chance  to  ask  him, — 

"You  won't  let  on  'bout  my  goin'  tew  Boston,  will 
you  ?  Our  folks  might  be  oneasy,  an'  I'm  'bliged  tew 
go." 

"  See  here,  Jim  Langdon  an'  I  take  some  stages  down 
next  week.  Can't  you  wait  ?  " 

"  Fits  like  a  wedge.  I  want  tew  hook  one  or  tew  fish 
down  by  Aumskeag  Falls,  an'  brile  'em  on  a  board.  If 
you'll  haul  up  at  Webster's,  I'll  be  ready." 

"All  right;  we  allus  change  bosses  there." 

So  it  happened  the  next  week  that  the  door  of  a  Bos- 
ton law-office  seemed  to  burst  open,  admitting  two  dogs 
and  a  man.  The  stranger  bore  an  eager,  kindly,  reso- 
lute face,  full  of  light  that  quickly  died  out  on  ob- 
serving two  youngerly  men  start  up  from  beside  a 
long,  green  baize-covered  table,  strewn  with  books  and 
writing  material,  and  fairly  stare  at  him  in  quizzical 
wonder.  He  stooped  and  pulled  a  hound's  long  ear, 
explaining,  — 


The  King  Takes  a  Sample  to  Market        309 

"I  thought  he  was  here." 

The  men  exchanged  a  wink  which  touched  the  King. 
He  drew  up  by  his  gun  and  demanded  peremptorily,  — 

"Ain't  this  Shaw  and  Crowninshield's  ?  " 

"  It  is ;  can  we  help  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  I'm  lookin'  for  a  man." 

"  Here  are  two." 

He  gave  them  an  unflinching  look  that  struck  squarely 
at  them,  and  a  curious  inflection  pointed  the  quiet  re- 
mark, — 

"  Nothin'  like  I'm  sarchin'  for.  Him  as  I  knowed  up 
norrard,"  jerking  his  thumb  in  that  direction. 

"He  had  a  name?" 

"  Yes  ;  an'  a  good  one  tew,  John  Mayhew." 

"  Oh,  certainly ;  he  will  be  in  soon.  You  are  a 
friend  ?  "  Mr.  King  proudly  replied. 

"  Sence  John  was  a  baby  I've  been  jest  that  tew  him 
an'  he  tew  me." 

The  indescribable  grace  and  pathos  touched  their 
manhood  and  made  them  cordial. 

"  Sit  right  down  and  wait.  What  beautiful  hounds  ! 
I  never  saw  such  muzzles  and  marking." 

"  Prob'ly  not ;  no,  thankee,"  said  he,  slowly  regarding 
the  room,  with  crowded  bookshelves  up  to  the  ceiling, 
and  loose  cobwebs  flying  here  and  there.  "  No ;  the  dogs 
would  ruther  be  in  the  sun.  Tell "  — 

The  door  opened  and  John  confronted  him,  but  the 
King  found  his  tongue  first. 


310  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  John,  John,  it's  me  !  me  an  the  dogs,  see  'em  ! " 

"  Mr.  King !  Uncle  David  !  How  in  creation  did 
you  come  here  ?  And  the  dogs  too." 

Mr.  King  regarded  the  young  man,  brimful  of  boyish 
glee,  who  shook  him  by  his  great  shoulders,  and  fondled 
the  dogs  as  they  barked  and  frisked  and  kissed  his 
hands.  Surely  he  was  the  self-same  boy,  showing  gravel- 
lines  ;  yet  it  was  he  as  of  "old.  No  hidden  faithlessness 
skulked  in  his  true  glance,  nor  deceit  in  his  ringing 
welcome. 

Some  hint  of  Mr.  King's  anxiety  John  perceived,  and 
straightway  was  troubled.  He  laid  both  hands  gently 
on  his  visitor's  shoulders  and  inquired,  — 

"  Why  did  you  come,  Uncle  David  ?  " 

"  Come  down  with  Mard,  an'  brought  samples  of  fur ; 
big  season  comin'." 

"  Is  that  all,  or  were  you  sent  ?  Has  some  terrible 
thing  happened  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  sent,  an'  I  hain't  heerd  of  no  sick  folks.  I 
run  up  tew  Mis'  Lane's  day  'fore  I  come  off,  an'  they 
was  chipper,  though  I  seed  Bill  Symons  as  I  tramped 
'long,  he  is  pooty  much  moon-colored  —  yaller  janders." 

John  still  felt  a  mental  certainty  that  Mr.  King's 
journey  concerned  himself  primarily,  and  soberly  in- 
vited him  into  his  private  room.  As  his  guest  came 
to  a  seat  he  smoothed  John's  sleeve,  saying,  — 

"I'll  be  doggoned  if  I  don't  b'leve  you're  John,  jest 
John." 


The  King  Takes  a  Sample  to  Market        311 

There  rose  one  peal  of  oldtime  laughter,  succeeded  by 
the  question,  — 

"  Who  says  not  ?  What  infernal  prattle  is  being 
made  about  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  git  riled  ;  le's  begin  at  firstly.  I  clipped  up 
the  paster  tew  Mis'  Lane's  'bout  daylitdown  t'other 
night,  an'  tole  her  where  I  was  boun',  an'  so  on.  She 
was  pesky  glad,  an'  sent  her  best  love  an'  these  traps. 
There,  ain't  them  bustin'  gloves,  gray  fox  skin,  an' 
here's  three  linen  handkercher's,  Loizy  made  them.  I've 
got  sunthin'  else.  Jerusalem !  if  I've  lost  that.  Thun- 
deration  !  what  an  ole  blunderbuss,  huntin'  in  the  wrong 
pocket.  Here  'tis — bosom  that  'Lisbeth  worked  for 
Francis  —  ain't  that  han'some.  Your  aunt  sent  it." 

When  John  opened  his  desk,  and  laid  gloves  and  ker- 
chiefs down,  but  carefully  locked  the  embroidered  linen 
in  a  drawer,  the  King  winked  his  eyes.  The  voice  that 
questioned  him  was  husky. 

"  What  have  you  come  to  say  ?  " 

"Le's  go  intew  the  sun,"  tugging  at  his  stiff  stock. 
"  Ain't  there  a  rod  of  Ian'  a  body  might  stan'  on  ?  " 

"  We'll  go  to  the  Common." 

There  the  king  said,  — 

"Now  I  can  breathe.  S'posen  you  an'  I  change 
work.  I'll  be  lawyer,  you  witness,  and  the  dogs  jury." 

"Go  ahead." 

"  Are  you  thinkin'  —  Huh !  I'd  ruther  be  horse- 
whipped, plague  take  it." 


312  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

John  suggested  composedly,  — 

"  The  jury  is  uneasy." 

"  I  feel  meaner'n  a  skunk ;  but  what  Father  Benson 
calls  a  powerful    sense  of   duty  driv  me  here,  and  — 
well "  — 

"  See  here,  Uncle  David,  out  with  it.  It  won't  kill 
me." 

"Not  less  I  shoot  ye.  Don't  upset  the  lawyer  ag'in. 
Are  you  goin'  tew  be  merried  tew  a  Boston  gal  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  said  —  yes  or  no." 

"No,"  thundered  John. 

"  Don't  yell  so.  'Tain't  likely  these  folks  care  much 
about  it.  Are  you  spoonin'  or  settin'  up  with  one  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  goin'  tew  or  wantin'  tew  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  never  shall." 

"  Whew  !  I  knowed  the  minit  I  set  eyes  on  ye,  but  I 
couldn't  help  mistrustin'  about  it  'fore  you  come  in,  a 
breathin'  that  air,  'thout  no  sun  'cept  what  squirrels  in 
through  cobwebs.  I  was  feared  your  soul  was  dried  up, 
but  'tain't ;  you're  John,  jest  John.  I'm  'shamed  " 

"Don't  say  that,  Uncle  David.  I  am  so  thankful. 
There  is  mischief  and  falsehood  up  home,  and  the  best 
man  I  ever  knew  asks  what  he  has  a  right  to  ask." 

The  old  man  jumped  to  his  feet  and  caught  John's 
arm. 

"  I'm  glad  you  spoke  them  words,  'cause  I  felt  kinder 


The  King  Takes  a  Sample  to  Market        313 

hampered  like,  feelin'  you  might  think  I  was  meddlin' 
or  sumthin'.  You  know  'bout  Phil  and  Eunice,  —  mer- 
ried." 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  it  did  seem  after  they  was  spliced,  as  though 
we  might  have  some  peace,  but  no  ;  Huldy  begun  a-buz- 
zin'  'bout  this  gal  down  here,  then  Holmes  come  —  he'd 
palaver  an  Injun  outen  his  moccasins  —  an'  sech  sithes 
as  we've  had  from  her,  an'  butter-mouth  speeches  from 
him  would  sicken  a  dog." 

"  Who  is  Holmes  ?  " 

"  He's  a  timber  man  ;  bought  Wilson's  oaks.  Comes 
tew  Boston,  he  says." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  runs  into   our  office  once  in  a  while." 

"  Same  critter." 

"  How  did  those  falsehoods  originate  ?  " 

"  Didn't  'riginate.  Blowed  up  on  an  east  wind,  or 
popped  outen  mud  like  musketeers." 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Wilson  is  severe  as  ever." 

"  Severe  !  well,  I  guess.  He  hain't  spoke  one  word 
tew  that  gal  sence  one  day  spring  after  you  come  away, 
when  she  tole  him  that  she  couldn't  an'  wouldn't  merry 
Phil.  Lettice  says  'twas  awful  when  she  faced  him, 
white  as  snow  an'  her  eyes  like  flints  strikin'  fire.  He 
meant  tew  put  her  outen  the  house,  but  Mis'  Wilson 
hindered." 

The  young  man  covered  his  face  and  turned  away, 
whispering  hoarsely,  "  'Lisbeth,  my  poor  'Lisbeth." 


314  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  That  gal  is  true  as  a  die,  John ;  and  'tween  the  olo 
man's  pride  an'  the  wimmin's  knack  of  hidin'  things, 
nobody,  not  even  Nabby,  'spects  how  'tis.  Lettice  an' 
me,  we  talk  over  the  garden-fence,  or  when  I'm  gunnin' 
an'  she  pickin'  arbs  an'  so  on." 

A  soft  color,  like  a  girl's,  suffused  Mayhew's  cheek  as 
he  touched  the  King's  sleeve  and  asked,  — 

"  Uncle  David,  will  you  tell  me  about  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"  Her  ?  She's  jest  the  same,  John ;  nothin'  like  her 
'mong  them  hills,  never,  nor  any  place  else ;  a  bit  quieter 
lately.  I  can't  make  you  understan'  how  'tis,  sunthin' 
onpossible  tew  trap  intew  words.  It's  her  as  brought 
me." 

"  Did  she  ask  you  to  come  ?  "  he  inquired  eagerly. 

"  No ;  but  I've  seen  shadders  chasm'  sun  over  her 
same  as  they  foller  over  our  white  clovers,  till  I'm  tuck- 
ered out.  Her  load  is  hefty,  John;  an'  I've  come  tew 
see  if  you  can't  lift  a  little." 

"  I  wish  I  could  carry  it  all,  Uncle  David." 

"  Sartin ;  but  you  can't,  an'  scowlin'  fiercer  'n  a  wile  cat 
don't  help  none ;  sunthin's  got  tew  be  done.  You're 
goin'  tew  write  a  few  words  tew  her  for  me  tew  carry 
back." 

"  I  promised  Mr.  Wilson  " 

"  Not  tew  court  his  gal,  —  darned  simple  performance 
as  ever  I  see,  but  that  ain't  the  pint.  Can't  you  tell 
her  you  ain't  the  meanest  cuss  on  the  footstool." 

"  Yes,  I  can  and  I  will." 


The  King  Returns  315 

"  John,  my  boy,  I'm  glad  I  come.  It's  all  right.  Let's 
walk  round  to  a  furrier's,  an'  give  him  a  squint  of  this 
gray  pelt." 


CHAPTER   XXX 

A    LATE    OCTOBER    DAY 

INDIAN  summer,  keeping  company  with  hazy  horizons 
and  heavenly  illuminations  on  forest,  field,  and  hill,  still 
lingered,  though  the  King  had  been  gone  three  weeks. 
A  couple  of  rainy  days  they  had,  but  it  cleared  off  warm 
as  before.  Season-wise  neighbors  pointed  out  the  thick- 
ness of  leaves,  their  reluctant  fall  and  their  gorgeous 
blazonry,  as  sure  omens  of  a  hard,  sharp  winter.  "  One 
extreme  follows  another,"  they  said  on  mild  afternoons, 
when  the  sun  melted  those  landscape  dyes  into  liquid 
softness. 

About  eleven  o'clock  on  such  a  day  Jack  went  in  from 
the  field  and  said  to  his  mother,  — 

"  Father  says  I  may  run  awhile." 

He  had  spent  many  days  of  the  gone  summer  with 
'Lisbeth  among  all  kinds  of  growing  things,  tracking 
through  meadow  or  up  the  heights.  In  their  rambles 
they  had  answered  the  King's  hello  in  forest  nooks  or 
beside  fern-banked  streams,  till  Mr.  Wilson  boasted  that 
Jack  had  learned  trees,  root  and  branch,  and  could  talk 
of  stones,  flowers,  or  birds  "good  as  the  minister  any 


316  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

day,"  though  never  hinting  the  name  of  his  instructor. 
He  wanted  another  day  out  on  the  hills ;  but  his  mother, 
being  busy,  answered  carelessly,  — 

"  Well,  Watch  can  go,  and  you  may  take  Tom  and 
Dorothy." 

"  Watch  may  go  if  he  wants  to ;  Dorothy's  no  good, 
Tom  neither,  —  scared  to  death  at  a  woodpecker." 

"  Go  alone,  then,"  remarked  Mistress  Dorothy,  not 
realizing  how  she  sent  cold  shivers  down  her  brother's 
back,  as  she  swung  her  sunbonnet  and  ran  out  in  pursuit 
of  a  swallow-tailed  butterfly,  bright  yellow  barred  with 
black. 

"  Why  can't  'Lisbeth  come  along,"  asked  he. 

"Certainly  she  can.  'Lisbeth,"  called  her  mother, 
"put  the  spinning-wheel  by  and  take  your  bonnet. 
Jack  wants  you,  and  don't  hurry  home  ;  take  a  good  long 
walk." 

"  My  stent  is  only  half  done,  mother." 

"  It  makes  no  difference  ;  improve  this  weather." 

Lettice  handed  each  boy  a  small  wicker  basket  as  he 
went  out,  saying,  "  Here's  sunthin'll  taste  good  when 
you're  tired  of  trampin'." 

Dame  Wilson  was  raging;  but  she  had  nothing  to 
say,  for  she  and  son  Thomas  had  given  the  girl  up 
to  her  mother.  A  pretty  mess  they  were  making  of 
it  to  be  sure,  but  then,  —  she  rocked  wrathfully  back 
and  forth,  furious  that  she  must  be  silent,  unsettled  more 
and  more  by  Lettice's  humming,  which  she  despised. 


The  King  Returns  317 

Lettice  kept  at  it  till  the  old  lady  snatched  her  snuff 
box  out. 

"  Here,  Lettice,  dew  try  my  new  snuff." 

"Can't  stop,  m  —  m  —  m."  Again  after  a  moment. 
"  Marthy,  Lettice  better  start  the  fire ;  I  s'pose  she'll 
make  Johnny  cake  for  dinner." 

" Eiz  bread,  m  —  m  —  m  —  m." 

The  dame  hitched  and  squirmed,  and  finally  arose. 

"I'm  good  mind  to  go  somewheres." 

"I  would,  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson;  "better  run 
down  and  see  if  Mr.  King  is  back." 

"  Didn't  Lettice  go  down  ?  P'raps  she  knows  all 
'bout  it.  I'd  ruther  go  tew  Mis'  Lane's." 

"  No,  I  don't.     I  ain't  his  gardeen,  m  —  m  —  m." 

"  It's  warm  an'  sunshin'y ;  I  guess  I'll  go." 

She  was  arrayed  in  Sunday  garb  very  quickly,  and 
took  a  stout  stick  Thomas  gave  her,  and  went  out  hop- 
ing if  she  found  a  woman  who  could  sing,  she  would 
sing  and  be  done  with  it.  Lettice  was  confused  by  her 
sudden  departure. 

"  For  the  land's  sake  !  what  made  her  dew  that  ?  she 
bounced  off  like  a  parched  pea." 

"  Your  humming,  Lettice ;  she  detests  it." 

"  Hummin' !  was  I  hummin'  ?  Funny  I  didn't  know 
it,  but  I've  been  pritty  much  taken  up  with  my  own 
idees  for  quite,  a  spell."  She  looked  intently  up  the 
road  at  the  compact,  erect  figure  as  if  expecting  it  to 
turn  back,  but  smiled  serenely  at  last. 


318  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  I  guess  she'll  go,  Mis'  Wilson ;  she's  beyend  the 
orchard  bars,  most  tew  the  big  maple.  You  don't  feel 
very  well  this  mornin'." 

"  No,  one  of  my  old  headaches." 

"  What  brought  it  on  ?  There,  don't  cry ;  it  is  some 
trouble  hitched  on  to  them  staves,  I  know,  and  I've  ex- 
pected it  from  the  fust.  I  know'd  when  I  see  that  glib- 
tongued  critter  hitchin'  his  hoss  that  I  oughter  stan'  at 
the  outer  door  with  a  mortar  pestle.  Staves,  fiddle- 
sticks !  Cooper's  timber !  'twan't  no  sech  a  thing ;  good 
land  !  he  didn't  care  if  nobody  ever  see  a  berril." 

"  Mr.  Wilson  says  John  is  going  to  be  married  before 
spring,  Lettice." 

"Wejl,  he  ain't,  I'll  be  bound.  I've  tried  tew  keep 
this  tattle  from  your  ears ;  for  it  all  comes  from  Isaiah 
Holmes  and  Huldy  Moses,  every  word  on't.  Last  week, 
as  I  was  comin'  home  from  visitin'  Mis'  Batchelder, 
there  they  stood  by  the  sheep-paster  bars,  a-talkin'  in 
the  hiddenest  way.  They  looked  awful  meachin'  when 
they  see  me ;  but  I  never  said  one  word,  an'  kep'  along 
tew  this  side  of  the  schoolhouse ;  an'  there  I  turned 
intew  the  chip-yard,  an'  set  down  on  a  log  till  Huldy 
ketched  up  —  she  wa'n't  much  behind,  I  can  tell  you  — 
then  I  give  her  a  piece  of  my  mind." 

"  Lettice ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  did ;  but  don't  you  worry  one  mite. 
My  grief  an'  patience  !  we  can't  travel  them  tew  yere 
old  roads  ag'in  ;  an'  we  ain't  goin'  tew,  nuther.  Let 


The  King  Returns  319 

things  have  their  run  ;  it's  the  season  for  fall  fevers,  an' 
Mr.  Wilson's  been  chasin'  round  a  pretty  muddy  swamp 
lately ;  but  we  live  in  a  healthy  destrick,  so  most  folks 
gits  over  what  ails  'em,  an'  I  mistrust  he  will,  though  it 
may  take  somethin'  bitter  as  gall  an  pisen  as  poke  tew 
cure  him." 

Mrs.  Wilson  made  no  reply,  and  her  .silence  alarmed 
Lettice. 

"  You  ain't  plannin'  tew  sacrifice  that  gal  tew  his  say- 
so  at  last,  be  ye  ?  Jest  try  it,  an'  you're  off'rin'  will  be 
took  away." 

"You -are  irreverent,  Lettice." 

"  No,  ma'am ;  my  mind  was  on  gifts  to  selfishness. 
I  ain't  speakin'  of  off'rin's  as  God  calls  for ;  them  are 
tew  be  give  up  'thout  questions,  an'  singin'  if  we  can, 
though  the  key  may  be  a  very  low  minor.  All  I'm 
afeared  on  is  Mr.  Wilson  '11  work  on  your  mind  like 
snows  that  melt  an'  run  down  into  our  medder  brook, 
fillin'  it  fuller  an'  fuller,  rushin'  over  the  dam,  a-makin' 
it  shiver  an'  scream  till  bimeby  out  it  goes  from  flash- 
board  tew  foundation.  I've  been  wantin'  tew  talk  this 
over  quite  a  spell,  an'  now  won't  you  promise  me  that 
'Lisbeth  may  go  back  tew  the  'Cademy  ?  " 

"I  feel,  Lettice,  that  you  are  almost  an  equal  guard- 
dian  of  my  child  since  our  trouble  came,  and  I  shall 
arrange  it  as  you  propose." 

"  That  makes  me  happy,  Mis'  Wilson.  My  stars ! 
here  'tis  half  after  eleven,  an'  not  a  step  took  towards 


320  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

dinner.  Le's  see  ;  if  you've  a  mind  tew  pare  a  few  tart 
apples,  I'll  make  a  short-cake  stid  of  pie.  Mr.  Wilson 
'11  kinder  like  it.  This  afternoon  we  shall  be  all  alone, 
an'  we'll  plan  for  our  woollen  web  a-settin'  by  the  winder, 
where  we  can  see  the  neighbors  harvesting  an'  watch  the 
trees  an'  hills  between  stitches ;  for  I  declare  I  never 
see  sech  a  sight  as  they  be,  a'most  like  Moses'  bush  that 
burned  with  fire." 

Meanwhile  the  children  started  up  the  ridge  to  the 
Pinnacle.  'Lisbeth  helped  the  boys  fly  their  kites, 
chase  squirrels,  and  battle  beechnuts  on  the  way;  so 
they  reached  the  summit  just  in  season  to  hear  the  call 
of  dinner  horns  and  replying  halloos  of  hungry  men. 
They  sat  down  under  some  trees  edging  the  forest, 
to  watch  farmers  going  to  dinner,  and  open  their  own 
baskets.  The  sun  billowed  in  floods  over  mossy  rock 
and  through  forests  of  red  and  gold,  burned  on  weeds 
in  gray  stubble  fields,  glowed  in  clumps  of  bushes  on 
bare  pasture  sides,  and  brightened  mowing  lands  sparsely 
studded  with  late  clovers. 

Purple  frost  flowers  and  goldenrod  nodded  near  them ; 
and  white  oaks  were  magnificent  along  the  pond's  far 
shore,  where  the  hills  bathed  their  crimson  foot-fringe 
in  pellucid  waters. 

They  leaned  against  gray  tree-boles,  and  strained 
their  eyes  to  take  in  the  glory  of  those  wondrous  hills 
as  they  dimmed  and  flamed  under  the  cloud  shadows 
and  sunlight  that  chased  one  another  over  them. 


The  King  Returns  321 

Suddenly  Jack  held  his  hand  up.  "  See  here,  'Lis- 
beth,  what  I  have  found;  this  shell  is  cracking  apart." 

He  held  up  a  half-split  shell  in  an  open  burr,  which 
he  found  bedded  in  the  underlying  black  mould.  From 
the  kernel  pushed  creamy  white  sprouts. 

"  Why,  it's  sprouted  like  a  potato." 

"  Look  here,"  said  she,  touching  a  tender  shoot 
crowned  by  two  new  ruddy  leaves.  "  Find  where  this 
leads." 

Jack  was  indolent  only  toward  corn,  potatoes,  and 
the  like.  He  dug  earnestly  and  carefully  with  a  fork 
whittled  out  of  a  broken  branch. 

"  Oh,  oh  my,  'Lisbeth  ! " 

"Well." 

"  This  stalk  reaches  to  some  small  roots,  and  out  of 
them  run  —  dear,  I  can't  tell  how  many  little  bits  of 
ones ;  but,"  he  said  disappointedly,  "  there  isn't  a  sign 
of  a  beechnut." 

"Look  sharp  ;  brush  the  dirt  from  the  roots." 

"  There  'tis,  'Lisbeth,  true  as  you  live ;  a  very,  very 
beechnut,  and  seems  as  if  this  little  stem  grows  right 
out  of  it." 

'"That  is  so.     The  nut  pushed  one  sprout  upward  for 
the  tree,  the  rest  downward  for  roots." 

"  Say,  'Lisbeth,  how  did  it  plant  itself  ?  "  asked  he, 
gazing  intently  upon  his  scientific  discovery. 

"Sharp  frost  broke  the  spiny  burr  from  the  tree  and 
split  it.  It  fell  011  leaves  that  winds  whirled  about, 


322  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

burying  it  deeper  and  deeper,  covering  it  warmly. 
Storms  watered  it,  and  the  sun  nursed  it  into  life." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  telling  off  his  fingers,  "  it  takes 
frost,  wind,  storm,  and  sun  to  start  a  beech.  Seems  as 
if  one  of  them  would  kill  it." 

"  It  is  God's  way,"  she  answered  him. 

"  Seems  like  a  miracle  —  raising  from  the  dead. 
Why  don't  ministers  preach  about  such  things?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

He  put  the  infant  beech  into  the  ground  reverently, 
and  they  strolled  into  damp  sylvan  depths,  over  slip- 
pery paths  of  enamelled  pine-needles,  through  clumps 
of  hemlock  growing  dark  and  thick  as  spruce ;  they 
chased  wood-calls  with  Watch ;  but  everywhere  'Lisbeth 
saw  the  beech  shoot,  and  heard,  undertoning  the  sighing 
forest,  "Frost,  wind,  storm,  fire."  Indeed,  she  had 
been  bitten  by  His  cold,  tossed  underneath  shifting  sor- 
rows by  His  winds,  drenched  by  His  storm  ;  would  she 
be  brought  up  again  by  His  immortal  fires,  resurrected 
to  earthly  sunshine  ?  She  found  no  answer  in  the 
silent  sky  that  domed  the  world,  though  she  questioned 
till  they  started  homeward. 

She  wandered  dreamily  toward  home,  till,  coming 
down  near  the  schoolhouse,  suddenly  Tom  cried  out,  — 

«  The  King,  the  King !  " 

Sure  enough,  he  was  coming  towards  them  from  the 
pasture  on  a  dog-trot,  as  if  he  had  no  absences  to  ac- 
count '  for,  everything  seeming  usual.  The  children  ran 


The  King  Returns  323 

to  meet  him,  and  then  with  the  dogs  flew  over  the  hill 
toward  home  and  back  again  opposite  'Lisbeth  into  the 
lower  field. 

She  gladdened  at  sight  of  King  David,  rough,  but 
abiding  as  the  hills  he  loved,  and  faithful  as  the  star 
which  set  his  compass.  With  an  indefinable  awkward 
grace,  the  outcome  of  an  innate  chivalry,  he  inquired,  — 

"  How  be  you,  'Lisbeth  ?  " 

"  Uncle  David,  you  cannot  tell  how  we  have  missed 
you  and  the  dogs." 

"  Have  you  now  ?  Mebbe  your  father  has  tew,  we're 
gener'ly  coon-huiitin'  through  his  corn." 

Both  laughed,  for  coon-hunting  was  a  sore  subject  to 
Fanner  Wilson. 

"  But  where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  'Lisbeth,  this  chatter  an'  tattle  wore  me  out,  an'  I've 
made  a  little  journey.  I  tole  John  once  what  I  sh'd  do 
case  of  some  things,  an'  I've  done  it." 

He  drew  a  brown  paper  parcel  from  his  pocket,  gave 
it  to  her,  and  was  gone  in  a  flash  down  the  lower  field 
after  his  dogs  and  the  children. 

Amazed,  she  took  the  little  packet  home,  went  quietly 
to  her  room  through  the  east  entry,  undid  it,  found  a 
letter,  broke  its  seal,  and  read  its  two  lines,  — 

"ELIZABETH, — 

What  I  was  I  am  and  shall  be.  God  bless  you  forever  and 
ever.  JOUN  MAYHEW." 


324  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

To  be  content  without  renewed  assurance  of  his 
great  love  was  serenity ;  to  be  certain  of  his  constancy 
was  peace.  She  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again, 
positive  that  no  half-heard  speeches,  nor  Huldah's  most 
shivering  sighs,  could  ever  disturb  her  more. 

She  descended  to  find  her  mother  and  Lettice  in  the 
east  room  sewing  and  planning. 

"  Why,  'Lisbeth,"  said  her  mother,  "  how  you  have 
enjoyed  your  frolic  with  the  children !  You  must  go 
every  day  while  this  Indian  summer  lasts." 

"  Yes,  mother ;  where  is  grandma  ?  " 

"Up  to  Mis'  Lane's." 

Lettice  pushed  her  head  out  of  the  window,  shading 
her  eyes  with  an  arm,  and  at  last  exclaimed,  — 

"  Mis'  Wilson  !  'Lisbeth !  look  down  in  our  medder. 
Ain't  that  man  the  King  ?  'Tis,  I  know  'tis ;  an'  there's 
his  dogs,  true  as  you  live." 

"Yes,"  answered  'Lisbeth;  "I  saw  him  up  by  the 
schoolhouse,  and  the  children  ran  down  the  ridge  with 
him." 

Both  women,  hearing  her  happy  voice,  turned  towards 
her  kindled  face. 

"  Where's  he  been  ?  "  inquired  Lettice  eagerly. 
"  What  is  it  makes  you  so  kinder  pleased  ?  0  'Lisbeth  ! 
has  he  been  way  down  below  —  tew  Boston  ?  " 

The  girl  smiled  and  nodded,  while  her  face  grew 
faintly  rosy. 

"  Has   he  ?      My   stars,    we    might    a-knowed   'thout 


Parish  Visit  325 

tellin',  for  he  would  dew  jest  that.  Sick  of  this  buzzin', 
an'  winkin',  an'  whisperin',  I  s'pose." 

"  'Lisbeth,  did  he  bring  any  word  from  John  ? " 
tremulously  inquired  her  mother. 

"Nothing  which  breaks  his  promise  to  my  father. 
Here  is  a  line  he  sent ;  you  and  Lettice  can  read  it  while 
I  am  gone  to  find  my  sewing." 

Mrs.  Wilson  took  the  letter,  and  having  read  it 
through  a  shower  of  tears,  passed  it  to  Lettice.  When 
she  had  finished  they  exchanged  one  misty  smile  of 
thankfulness,  and  each  woman  turned  her  quivering  face 
into  thick  nasturtium  vines  that  swayed  blossoming  over 
the  window-sill  by  which  she  sat. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

PARISH    VISIT 

long  after  Mr.  King's  return,  Mr.  Baker  drove 
out  one  day,  walked  down  into  the  field  and  chatted 
a  while  with  the  farmer  where  he  was  breaking  up,  and 
went  away,  taking  'Lisbeth  with  him. 

"  Marthy  won't  so  much  as  ask  for  the  horse,  an'  take 
'Lisbeth  to  school  herself,"  he  muttered,  and  immedi- 
ately felt  aggrieved,  or  as  if  a  light  had  gone  out,  or 
an  east  wind  come  up,  chilling  to  the  marrow.  Cer- 
tainly his  boys  and  Mr.  Tyrrell  had  a  great  deal  to  do 


326  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

driving  the  oxen,  for  they  never  seemed  to  travel  a  rod 
in  the  right  direction.  His  temper  rose  higher  at  the 
evening  meal  because  emptiness  asserted  itself  so  meanly , 
emphatic  at  his  wife's  right  hand.  He  did  not  blame 
himself,  being  unconscious  of  fault.  'Lisbeth's  folly,  as 
he  phrased  it,  added  to  her  mother's  and  Lettice's  wilful 
upholding  of  law-breaking  as  he  viewed  it,  were  chief, 
and,  in  fact,  only  causes  of  misery ;  certainly  it  followed 
no  error  of  his ;  but  he  did  question  himself  anxiously 
as  to  how  long  those  three  women,  yes,  three,  —  Lettice 
was  worst  of  the  lot,  —  would  sting  him  with  such 
barbed  shafts. 

After  supper  that  evening  a  peculiar  disquieting  hush 
which  abides  in  rooms  where  the  central  spirit  is  ill- 
tempered  settled  down.  Lettice  enjoyed  Mr.  Wilson's 
discomfort  more  than  she  deemed  quite  proper,  and 
nodded  to  the  tea-caddy  as  she  went  to  the  dresser, 
whispering,  — 

"  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 

Though  she  hardened  her  heart  to  him,  she  pitied  the 
mother,  so  pale  and  worried. 

"  Don't  fuss  over  him  a  mite,  Mis'  Wilson ;  for  he's 
bound  tew  be  crosser  'n  a  bear,  an'  'tain't  no  use.  These 
spells  '11  dew  him  good ;  let  him  alone ;  he  oughter  ache, 
an'  he'll  have  smarter  twinges  'n  this." 

"It  seems  pretty  bad  thorning  anybody  so,  Lettice." 

"He's  thornin'  himself.  If  he  don't  like  it,  he  can 
stop  any  time.  You  an'  I  have  got  tew  stan'  on  his 


Parish  Visit  327' 

highheadedness,  if  he  does  squirm,  or  kill  'Lisbeth. 
That  is  our  stent,  an'  we  ain't  goin'  tew  give  in  not  so 
much  as  tew  stan'  on  one  foot  instid  of  both.  I'm 
feared  we  sha'n't  save  her  after  all,  but  we  can  dew  OUT 
best." 

"  Lettice,  we  must  do  our  duty ;  but  I  feel  as  I  have 
coming  in  out  of  a  cold  storm,  and  raking  the  ashes  open 
to  find  every  spark  gone  out  —  so  tired  and  numb  and 
bewildered." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  hain't  a  doubt  on't,  but  that  don't 
signify ;  we're  both  on  us  pullin'  full  as  heavy  a  load  as 
he  is,  an'  we  can't  shirk  it.  .  If  the  fire  was  out,  there 
was  flint  and  tinder  tew  start  another,  or  you  borrered 
some  of  a  neighbor.  Don't  worry  a  minit." 

When  they  returned  to  sewing  he  flirted  his  chair 
backward,  and  complained,  — 

"I  s'pose  we  air  out  of  candles,  an'  I  sh'd  like  to 
know  where  my  this  week's  Patriot  is." 

In  spite  of  such  brave  talk,  he  walked  to  the  east 
window,  and  peered  out  on  the  stony  road  over  which 
his  child  had  gone. 

Shortly  after  Thanksgiving,  when  the  snowy  roads 
were  smooth  and  hard,  neighboring  women  ran  into 
Mrs.  Wilson's  one  day  to  consult  as  to  a  parish  visit 
and  sewing-bee  at  their  pastor's. 

Mrs.  King  said  she  and  her  husband  planned  to  go, 
for  their  children  liked  Mr.  Ward.  David  thought  the 
minister  needed  a  new  sleigh-wrap,  being  round  so 


328  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

much  visiting  schools  and  sick  people ;  so  she  and  the 
girls  had  sewn  some  gray  fox-skins  together,  and  lined 
them  with  warm  flannel,  •  dyed  logwood  color  set  with 
alum. 

Mrs.  Harmon  had  not  talked  it  over  at  home  enough 
to  be  quite  sure  about  it,  but  would  be  glad  to  give  most 
anything  not  agreed  upon  by  others.  She,  Phil,  and 
Eunice  were  going.  Aunt  Seth  was  positive  she  should 
take  along  half  a  web  of  fine  linen  sheeting;  and  Mrs. 
Lane  had  put  by  seven  towels,  nicely  hemstitched,  for 
the  purpose. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Wilson  said  to  her  husband,  — 

"  You  are  planning  to  attend  the  bee  and  donation,  I 
s'pose." 

"  Yes ;  I  calc'late  to  carry  three  or  four  bushels  of 
wheat.  Mother  and  Mr.  Tyrrell  can  see  to  things,  so 
you  an'  Lettice  both  better  go." 

"  Well,  then,  Lettice,  we  better  heat  the  brick  oven 
hot  enough  for  pies  and  cake  this  morning,  and  to-mor- 
row early  we  can  put  in  two  beef  roasts ;  one  we'll  take, 
it  will  keep  warm,  and  the  other  will  be  for  mother  and 
the  children.  You  can  make  up  a  couple  of  one-two- 
three-four  cake,  and  put  in  rose  leaves  for  spice.  This 
afternoon  you  may  bake  our  tart  shells  in  the  tin  baker, 
they  brown  nicer  so ;  and  this  evening  we  will  pack  them 
into  my  large  rattan  basket  careful,  and  take  our  jelly 
along  in  tumblers."  So  they  made  a  holiday  of  prepara- 
tion, conversing  of  homely,  heartsome  friends  and  joys. 


Parish  Visit  329 

Sleigh-bells  chimed  jovially  next  clay  along  all  roads 
leading  to  Plymouth.  Ox-sleds  loaded  with  hard  wood 
creaked  over  solidly  trodden  snow ;  and  other  ones,  cov- 
ered with  furs  and  checked  blankets,  drawn  by  three  or 
four  pairs  of  cattle,  freighted  half  the  grown  people  of 
one  or  another  district  from  distances  of  several  miles, 
passed  every  now  and  then  by  fleet  sleighs,  ma,king 
music  on  the  crisp  air,  or  sedately  plodding  red  pungs, 
the  bells  of  whose  horses  chanted  more  quietly. 

The  pastor's  house  was  early  set  in*  order,  assuming 
an  air  of  expectation,  while  a  teakettle  became  very 
much  excited  behind  the  kitchen  andirons,  and  an  odor- 
ous breath  of  burning  pine  exhaled  from  the  fore-room. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  first  comers  crossed  the 
threshold,  and  then  sleighs  jogged  up  quite  merrily  for 
some  time.  Mrs.  Harmon,  going  up-stairs  to  take  her 
things  off,  followed  by  Eunice,  pretty  as  a  pink,  found 
half  a  dozen  women  in  the  guest  chamber. 

"  You  are  very  well  now,  I  am  sure,"  said  one  of  the 
household,  Avho  assisted  her  unbundling. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  woman,  giving  her  head  a  pretty 
turn  to  one  side,  "  I  am.  Eunice  has  a  knack  for  curin' 
sperrits  an'  bodies." 

Truly  it  did  seem  likely,  as  one  observed  how  handily 
the  young  wife  removed  her  mother-in-law's  hood, 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  settled  a  lace  cap  with  dainty 
rose  ribbons  upon  it. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  you  think  I  bought  them  gay  rib- 


330  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

bins  myself;  it's  Eunice's  dewins,  an'  I  couldn't  help  it, 
for  we  are  all  under  her  thumb  down  tew  our  house.  I 
tell  father  I  don't  know  what  we  are  comin'  tew." 

She  glanced  at  Eunice  in  a  way  that  showed  they  had 
already  arrived  at  something  very  sweet  indeed. 

"  We  must  go  down  and  have  our  cloth  making  up," 
said  Aunt  Seth. 

"  Yes,  we  can  help  you,"  remarked  Mrs.  Harmon, 
"  for  we  brought  a  firkin  of  butter." 

Busy  hands  ^id  busy  tongues  made  light  work  and 
decorous  pastime  down-stairs,  where  their  faithful  pastor 
and  his  family  moved  among  them  with  gracious  ex- 
pressions to  each.  It  was  curious  to  note  the  wonder- 
ing appearance  of  some  who  paused  upon  the  library 
threshold  and  scanned  its  shelves,  trying  to  make  out 
what  manner  of  man  their  preacher  was,  so  skilled  in 
letters,  nor  once  doubting  his  knowledge  of  each  book 
from  cover  to  cover. 

A  couple  of  neat,  youngerly  women,  who  did  general 
sewing  for  families  round  about,  superintended  the 
work.  They  measured,  cut,  basted,  turned  hems,  joked, 
and  laughed  after  their  own  gentle  manner. 

About  twenty-five  people  dined  at  two  long  tables 
laid  in  dining-room  and  library.  Afterward,  men  who 
had  been  chopping  and  riving  donated  wood  resumed 
their  labors  till  two  o'clock,  when  the  house  was  full  of 
sedately  joyous  people.  One  room  was  given  up  to 
work,  the  rest  of  the  house  to  comers  and  goers. 


Parish  Visit  331 

When  the  Academy  closed,  'Lisbeth  and  Lois  found 
Eunice,  and  from  then  mild  frolic  followed  hard  after 
them  from  room  to  room. 

1ST.  P.  Rogers,  the  singer  and  the  prophet,  greatly  per- 
plexed some  brethren  by  new  notions  upon  slavery. 
Aunt  Seth  nodded  a  rather  assenting  cap-border  to  his 
arguments,  as  Mr.  Wilson  observed,  and  inly  vowed  to 
make  her  a  visit  the  next  Wednesday  evening. 

Every  once  in  a  while  Mr.  Ward  pre-empted  a  space 
in  his  library  near  a  south  window,  talking  in  subdued 
tones  to  one  or  another  who  needed  advice,  correction, 
consolation,  or  sympathy. 

He  discerned  that  Mr.  Wilson  held  no  speech  with 
'Lisbeth,  nor  did  she  once  regard  him,  and  he  thought 
she  studiously  avoided  being  near  her  father;  in  fact, 
they  seemed  as  strangers. 

He  was  pained  and  somewhat  angered,  but  made  no 
sign  of  his  watchful  oversight,  and  was  pleased  to  see, 
that  in  the  exchange  of  news,  the  rustle  of  silk  against 
homespun,  and  recalling  of  many  memories,  the  occur- 
rence passed  unnoticed. 

Hitty  Stearns,  whose  tongue  prevented  her  from  be- 
ing installed  as  a  mistress  of  seams,  —  for  the  pastor 
would  not  countenance  her  so  far,  —  cornered  Aunt  Seth 
about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 

"  They  dew  say  for  certain,  Mis'  Batchelder,  that 
John  Mayhew  is  goin'  tew  bring  a  gal  home  next 
spring." 


332  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

«  A  Mis'  John  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He's  a  right  tew  ;  we  can't  dispute  that." 

"But  think  of  'Lisbeth." 

"  Surmises  an'  surmises.  Good  deal  we  know,  for 
there  ain't  a  closer-mouthed  family  livin'  on  the  face  of 
this  earth  than  the  Wilsons." 

"  Look  at  her  this  minit,  by  that  winder.  I  say  she's 
a'most  cryin'." 

There  was  a  painful  tug  at  Aunt  Seth's  heart ;  for  it 
was  a  cast-down  figure  sure  enough  that  she  saw  all  by 
itself,  but  in  a  moment  it  flitted  gayly  away  with  one  of 
the  Hobart  girls.  She  replied  to  Hitty,  spurred  by  her 
own  deep  feeling,  and  owning  due  fealty  to  the  pious 
house  wherein  she  spoke. 

"Hitty  Stearns,  if  'Lisbeth  has  got  any  sorrer,  or 
does  have,  she'll  meet  it  with  a  believin'  soul,  alone, 
wrestlin'  like  a  woman  Jacob  afore  Isril's  God;  but 
she  won't  speak  of  it  once  tew  you,  nor  tew  me.  She's 
been  set  for  a  sign  of  good  to  all  hereabouts  sence  she 
was  born,  an'  there  won't  be  no  change.  Maid  or  wife, 
she'll  be  a  token  of  blessing  allus."  She  rose  quickly, 
and  took  another  chair  beside  Mrs.  King  and  Mrs. 
Willoughby. 

"I  hain't  seen  you,  Mis'  King,  sence  your  husband 
took  his  tramp  for  sellin'  fur." 

"Queer  freak  of  David's  runnin'  round  like  that;  but 
he  made  a  good  trade  for  his  winter's  ketch." 


Parish  Visit  333 

Mrs.  King  was  uneasy.  She  knew  the  particulars  of 
her  husband's  journey,  and  was  afraid  of  questions.  At 
that  very  instant  he  came  in  with  Mr.  Cummings,  who 
was  saying,  — 

"  I  hear  you've  been  a  journey." 

Every  one  gave  strict  attention ;  for  a  trip  of  twenty 
miles  being  a  matter  of  town  talk,  one  of  more  than 
three  weeks  made  him  a  travelled  personage. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  an  opportunity  for  which  he  had 
waited  since  the  Indian  summer  made  way  for  snow. 
Mr.  Wilson  was  busy  visiting  with  Mrs.  Russell  and 
Mrs.  Webster,  of  course  he  could  not  run ;  Hitty  stood 
in  the  door  leading  to  the  kitchen,  and  would  notify 
Huldah ;  'Lisbeth  was  in  some  other  room,  —  a  most 
propitious  union  of  circumstances.  There  was  a  venge- 
ful twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  answered,  — 

"Yes;  I  went  down  the  turnpike  a  piece  jest  tew 
keep  the  dogs  out  of  the  corn.  Le's  set  down,  Mr. 
Cummin's.  We  don't  want  no  more  stagin'  for  one 
spell,  though,  the  houn's  an'  me." 

«  Where'd  you  go  ?  " 

"  Tew  Boston." 

"  Boston  !     Why  didn't  you  start  for  the  moon  ?  " 

"  I  hain't  never  hunted  thereaway.  Ye  see,  I  wanted 
tew  bargain  for  this  winter's  furs,  an'  I  kinder  hankered 
tew  see  John  Mayhew." 

He  slung  one  leg  over  the  other,  and  winked  hard  at 
the  ceiling  above  Mr.  Wilson's  head. 


334  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"I  s'pose  he's  changed  a  good  deal,"  piped  Hitty, 
beside  herself  with  curiosity. 

"Yes,  Hitty,  'sponsibleness  gives  a  master  strong 
twist  tew  a  man.  He's  a  high-steppin'  critter,  that's 
a  fac'.  I  told  him  some  of  our  folks  heerd  he  was 
a-comin'  home  nex'  spring  with  a  bran'  new  wife." 

"  Is  he  ? "  peremptorily  demanded  Hitty. 

"Not  less  he  gits  some  new  idees  'tween  now  an' 
then.  But,  Mr.  Cummin's,  we  went  everywhere ;  tew 
furriers  an'  gunsmiths ;  but  the  last  thing  beat  Bunker 
Hill." 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  The  all-firedest  mess  of  stuff  as  ever  was  put  to- 
gether, cars  they  call  'em,  —  tew  ride  in  ye  know,  — - 
pullin'  done  by  steam." 

"  I  see  about  it  in  our  paper,"  said  Mr.  Hobart,  who 
was  progressive ;  "  an'  I  sorter  thought  'twould  be  a  good 
thing  if  it'll  go." 

"  Go !  go !  I  guess  they  go.  You  oughter  see  'em 
'  hyper.'  John  he  took  me  tew  the  deepo',  —  a  house 
they  comes  intew,  —  an'  soon  I  heerd  a  buzzin'  an'  spit- 
tin'  down  the  railroad,  sounded  some  like  a  meet'n  of 
bears  an'  wile-cats ;  then  the  train  come  roun'  a  corner 
an'  —  well  —  I  ain't  skeert  at  nothin',  but  I  kinder  hung 
back  when  that  black  critter  tore  along  intew  the  deepo' 
so  proud  an'  grand  an'  all-fired  business  like.  'Twas  a 
reg'lar  '  git  out  the  way  ole  Dan  Tucker '  performance. 
I  don't  want  tew  see  any  more  of  'em  long  as  I  live." 


Parish  Visit  335 

"  Any  folks  git  out  of  'em  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'll  bet  more  'n  tew  stage  loads,  or  three 
mebby." 

"  How  big  be  they  ?  " 

"  Nigh  the  size  of  this  f  oreroom,  not  quite  so  wide  an' 
a  leetle  longer." 

"  Didn't  you  even  step  inside  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  John  tried  tew  have  me  jump  on  one  of 
the  blamed  things  ;  said  'twar  on'y  drawn  back  tew  the 
extry  car-shed ;  but  I  tole  him,  no,  I  didn't  care  a  cent 
whether  they  was  goin'  back  or  for'ards,  they'd  dew  it 
'thout  me." 

"  There  ain't  no  steam  in  the  cars." 

"  You  see,  fire,  an'  water,  an'  steam  air  all  harnessed 
up  by  themselves,  an'  sep'rit  in  the  ingin.  It's  got  a 
great  fire-oven  and  biler  behind  it  that  looks  some  like 
a  barril  on  its  side,  but  longer,  an.'  out  of  the  biler,  or 
oven,  or  somethin',  runs  a  big  chimbly.  The  cars  air 
hooked  onto  this  ingin." 

"  Does  it  look  hansum  ?  " 

"  Humbly,  humbliest  thing  I  ever  see,  black  an' 
stubbed,  and  kinder  devilish  when  it's  fired  up,  —  that's 
what  they  call  it  when  the  wood's  in  an'  sparks  a-flyin', 
—  an'  there's  a  crooked  arm  on  each  side  that  reaches 
an'  reaches  ready  tew  grab,  and  it  hisses  like  a  million 
sarpunts  —  well,  I  kep'  outen  the  way." 

The  women  exclaimed,  but  the  men  winked  at  each 
other,  and  said  nothing.  Finally  one  inquired,  — 


336  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  Does  it  make  any  noise  ?  " 

"  Cracky,  you  oughter  hear  it !  Rumbles  louder'n 
twenty  wagons  over  the  ledge  close  tew  Mr.  Lane's. 
Then  it  whistles.  Whew  !  you've  heerd  steam  come 
outen  a  big  coal  pit  —  it's  nothin'  tew  it,  nothin' ;  an' 
you've  heerd  dinner  horns.  Nabby'll  blow  ourn  ahead 
.of  anybody  I  ever  see,  but  that  thing'll  whoop  louder'n 
forty  toots  put  together.  I  couldn't  help  laughin', 
thinkin'  of  the  wile  critters,  an'  how  they  would  scatter 
an'  scrabble  if  it  should  ever  come  this  way." 

Mrs.  Bartlett  remarked,  when  amaze  had  somewhat 
subsided,  that  it  was  nearly  time  to  go  home.  Mr.  Ward 
called  the  choir  together ;  and,  after  singing,  he  prayed 
long  and  fervently  for  his  departing  flock.  He  requested 
Mr.  Wilson  to  remain  until  other  good-bys  were  spoken, 
and  they  were  closeted  together  before  harnessing. 

Lettice,  worn  out  from  piloting  butter,  meat,  and  vege- 
tables down  cellar,  blankets  and  linen  up-stairs,  to  say 
nothing  of  visiting,  concluded  to  stay  at  Squire  Baker's 
until  Sabbath  day. 


Mr.  Wilson's  Illness  337 


CHAPTER   XXXII 
MR.  WILSON'S  ILLNESS 

WINTER  sped  along  over  the  Wilson  district  in  rather 
sober  fashion;  for  the  sparkle  had  partly  died  out  of 
spelling  and  singing  schools,  Eunice  being  married,  Ruth 
lonesome,  and  'Lisbeth  gone.  To  be  sure,  the  Lanes 
were  lighter-hearted  than  usual,  anticipating  John's  re- 
turn. The  sweet  house-mother  busied  herself  with  some 
alterations  in  John's  room,  putting  up  new  curtains, 
painting  the  basket-stuff  chairs  anew,  polishing  the  little 
lightstand,  and  so  on,  all  and  several  of  which  changes 
she  narrated  at  Mr.  Wilson's,  to  his  perfect  misery ;  but 
there  was  nothing  to  do  except  groan  in  the  spirit  and 
keep  silence. 

The  outcroppings  of  a  general  desire  to  see  John  were 
his  most  nettling  harassment,  for  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood was  broken  in  upon  by  expectation  to  such  a  de- 
gree that  even  his  most  vital  arguments  with  Aunt  Seth 
were  disjoined  by  queries  as  to  whether  John  would  re- 
turn at  sugar  time  or  wait  for  settled  weather. 

The  King  also  was  quite  content.  His  hounds  bayed 
up  mountain  sides,  their  deep  cry  resounded  from  thick 
woods,  the  tall  figure  of  their  master  loped  from  covert 
to  covert.  A  long  series  of  bright,  crisp  days  led  up  to 


338  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

Candlemas,  when  a  threatened  thaw  withdrew  its  her- 
alds, and  damp  snow  covered  everything  close  as  banded 
wool.  Sleet  followed  during  the  night;  and  the  King 
arose  to  find  every  tree  and  shrub,  every  level  and  hill, 
robed  in  vestments  of  flawless  crystal  over  a  swathe  of 
snow. 

It  was  the  free  and  unlimited  coinage,  of  silver,  but 
the  fires  in  which  it  was  smelted  and  the  dies  in  which 
it  was  struck  remain  a  secret  of  Omnipotence. 

The  very  inmost  spirit  of  the  hills  throbbed  in  the 
hunter's  soiil  when  he  pulled  a  curtain  aside  and  beheld 
that  northern  pageant. 

Hurrying  breakfast,  he  was  speedily  equipped.  In 
the  heel  taps  of  his  fur  boots  were  projecting  nail-heads, 
that  took  firm  hold  of  the  crust ;  the  dogs'  claws  failed 
oftener  than  they.  Diving  into  the  opposing  forest,  he 
tramped  eastward  by  brook  and  glen,  past  bridges  whose 
stringers  and  floors  were  spun  silver ;  by  fairy  grottoes 
more  wonderful  than  Eastern  imageries ;  by  falls  over 
which  frolicking  waters  leaped  and  sang,  domed  by  crys- 
tal canopies. 

He  climbed  Smith  Hill  through  woods  beyond  the 
farther  dwelling,  and  kept  on  to  Bridgewater  meeting- 
house, where  the  northland  spread  before  him  up,  — 

"The  winding  vales  of  the  Pemigewassett," 

straight  ahead  over  Campton's  beautiful  hills,  to  the  far 
horizon  and  the  Presidential  range  of  mountains. 


Mr.  Wilson's  Illness  339 

"I  never  took  tew  Injun's,  pups,"  he  said,  "but  they 
knew  a  thing  or  so  'bout  names.  '  Waumbek  Methna,' 
they  called  'em,  '  Mountings  of  the  snowy  forrids,'  an' 
that's  jest  what  they  are.  I  wonder  what  it'll  be  when 
sunset  comes  an'  them  hills  color  up,  —  some  like  our 
roses  an'  laylocks." 

He  strolled  along  from  point  to  point  until  nearly 
noon ;  then  he  scraped  part  of  a  bowlder  clean,  and  sat 
down  close  under  a  low  spruce,  where  he  commanded  a 
wide  level  landscape,  hemmed  in  by  forest,  that  spar- 
kled as  a  sea  of  silver  strewn  with  jewels.  His  simple 
mind  discerned  in  it  some  faint  semblance  to  the  sea  of 
glass  mingled  with  fire. 

"  Beats  all,  pups.  To-day  is  cap-sheaf,  an'  we  won't 
see  another  like  it  if  we  live  forty  year.  Le's  have  a 
morsel  of  meat." 

He  sat  a  long  time,  indeed  till  late  afternoon,  listening 
to  the  cadence  of  bells  from  far  roads,  while  nearer,  twigs 
snapped,  branches  fell,  or  an  old  growth  tree,  too  heavily 
weighted  with  splendor,  crashed  thundering  down. 

After  a  while  he  rose,  threw  the  gun  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  called  to  his  dogs,  "Mazin,  Mazin,  come, 
well  go  home  ;  we  hain't  seen  nary  a  brush  nor  heerd  a 
chirrup,  but  I'm  glad  we  see  sech  a  sight  as  this." 

An  hour  after,  when  almost  in  view  of  home,  he  was 
startled  by  a  loud,  resolute  .sounding  of  Mrs.  King's 
dinner-horn.  Harkening  intently,  he  heard  it  again 
waking  the  echoes.  Another  equal  interval,  and  three 


340  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

long,  swift  notes  rang  clear  and  challenging.  Clasping 
his  gun  with  one  arm,  he  put  his  hands  together  and 
blew  an  answering  whistle.  "  Trouble ;  'tain't  ISTabby, 
for  nobody  livin'  can  toot  like  that  'cept  her ;  must  be 
one  of  the  childern."  He  made  a  bee  line  home,  turning 
his  gun  into  a  jumping-pole  over  hollows,  striking  a 
seven-league  gait  across  levels,  tugging  and  hauling  by 
limb  and  shrub  up  steep  banks,  till  he  saw  his  wife,  and 
David  with  a  handsled,  running  to  meet  him,  and  he  in- 
quired breathlessly,  — 

"  Is  it  one  of  the  gals  —  Lucy  ?  " 

"  'Tain't  us ;  it's  the  Wilsons." 

"  Who  ?  nobody  dead,  Nabby  ?  " 

"  'Twouldn't  be  no  use  tootin'  if  they  was.  Mr.  Wil- 
son has  been  pooty  bad  all  night  an'  wuss  to-day.  They 
want  'Lisbeth  an'  the  doctor,  an'  not  a  hoss  sharp-shod 
tew  keep  from  tumblin'  down,  first  step." 

"  I'm  glad  you  brought  my  i'un  shod  sled,  Dave. 
Here,  take  this  gun  an'  empty  bag  an'  see  tew  the  dogs, 
Nabby ;  mebbe  you'll  find  a  cut  or  tew  in  their  feet,  an 
they're  hungry." 

"  Don't  worry  'bout  nothin'.  I  'spect  that  horn  did 
give  ye  a  pooty  sharp  turn." 

Mr.  King  wheeled,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  en- 
tered the  Wilsons'  east  room,  where  grandma  sat  pale  as 
ashes,  and  Lettice  was  gray  with  waiting. 

"  I'm  here  ;  what's  up  ;  is  he  pooty  sick  ?  " 

"  Desprit   bad,    an'  growin'   wuss ;    some   kind    of  a 


Mr.  Wilson's  Illness  341 

fever,  I'm  cert'in.  He  took  cold  in  the  rain,  and  was 
sick  all  night." 

«  What's  wanted  ?  " 

"  Doctor  an'  'Lisbeth ;  but  it  is  nigh  sundown ;  can 
you  go  ?  " 

"  Go  !  I've  got  tew  go ;  give  me  a  bite,  Lettice,  right 
in  my  hand.  I've  got  my  i'un  runner,  an'  it  '11  go 
quicker  'n  a  hoss.  My  sled  '11  jest  whizz  over  this 
glare  crust,  an'  carry  clear  from  one  hill  tew  another. 
I'll  start  the  doctor  less  'n  forty  minutes." 

The  old  lady  counted  every  minute  on  the  dial,  going 
from  chair  to  window  and  back.  Two  hours  lacking  a 
quarter,  and  the  King  said  in  two  hours  Dr.  Good  would 
come.  What  if  he  were  away  from  home  ?  Five  slow- 
ticking  moments  passed  and  still  five  more.  Lettice 
lighted  the  lantern,  so  the  boys  might  be  ready  to  put 
up  the  hard-driven  horse.  All  the  children  joined  in 
that  silent  watch ;  but  only  once  did  a  stricken  face  look 
out  of  the  foreroom  door,  whither  they  had  carried  the 
sick  man.  One,  two,  three  more  —  a  faint  jingle  of 
bells,  a  team  flying  down  the  crusty  school-house  hill, 
and  immediately  the  doctor  entered  with  a  cheery  good- 
evening,  and  a  heartsome  air  as  if  nothing  serious  had 
happened  or  would  happen,  rubbed  and  warmed  his  chill 
fingers,  and  crossed  the  entry  to  the  sick-room. 

"  There,  'tain't  half  so  bad  as  'twas,"  said  Lettice. 
"I  declare  for't,  a  good  doctor  is  near  enuff  tew  an 
angil  tew  suit  me.  We'd  better  flax  round  an'  git  a 


342  '  Lisbeth  Wilson 

good  supper  for  him ;  an'  it'll  seem  kinder  incurrigin' 
tew  'Lisbeth  if  the  table's  set,  an'  teakittle  bilin',  when 
she  comes.'' 

Only  a  clean  cloth  and  a  few  plates  were  on  before 
Mr.  Baker  drove  up  with  'Lisbeth  and  Mr.  King,  whose 
"  i'un  runner  "  was  fast  to  the  sleigh.  "When  Dr.  Good 
returned,  he  cheered  therh  some,  saying,  — 

"  Well,  Mr.  Wilson  is  in  for  a  long  pull,  I  reckon,  good 
deal  of  fever  and  bad  tongue.  I've  given  him  a  blue 
pill,  and  shall  bleed  him  to-morrow  unless  he  is  better." 

"  Fever,  did  you  say  ?  Thomas  never  has  fevers," 
said  dame  Wilson  ;  but  her  dominance  was  gone,  fearing 
the  conqueror  of  all  born  of  women. 

"  One's  enough.  Kind  ?  Rheumatic  probably  ;  but 
he  has  a  wonderful  constitution,  and  I  expect  him  to 
weather  it.  Lettice  is  a  good  nurse,  one  of  the  best ; 
besides,  there  is  Mrs.  Lane  and  A-unt  Seth.  Good 
neighborhood  to  be  sick  in." 

"  Doctor,  will  it  be  long  ?  " 

He  wheeled  to  see  a  girl  whose  cloak  had  half-fallen 
from  her  shoulders, .resolutely  holding  Tom  and  Dorothy 
to  her  heart ;  he  also  perceived  that  an  intrepid  and 
helpful  soul  questioned  him  through  those  pale  lips. 

"  'Lisbeth  !  why,  bless  my  heart,  how  came  you  here  ? 
I'm  glad  to  see  you,  for  here  is  a  chance  to  set  a  girl 
thinking  of  something  besides  frills  and  furbelows." 

"  Will  it  be  long,  very  long,  indeed  ? "  pleaded  she 
drearily. 


Mr.  Wilson's  Illness  343 

"  Long  ?  H'ni,  yes,  'Lisbeth ;  this  fever  takes  hold  for 
a  whole  steut  ; "  he  went  close  and  patted  her  head, 
"but  your  stent  and  mine  lasts  equally  with  his.  You 
are  to  see  we  don't  lose  heart,  and  be  spare  hand  all 
round,  and  I  hope  your  father  will  be  out  in  season  for 
spring's  work.  Now  I'm  going  to  wait  till  Lettice 
brews  tea;  you  better  learn  her  knack;  capital." 

After  supper  he  went  away,  forbidding  water  to  his 
patient,  and  trebly  cautioning  against  one  breath  of  air 
from  doors  or  windows  ;  and  so  it  wTent  on  for  four  long 
weeks.  Mr.  Wilson  lay  there  full  of  pain,  parched, 
throbbing,  almost  motionless,  indebted  to  that  big, 
blessed  fireplace  for  any  hint  of  healthful  atmosphere  5 
then  Dr.  Good  announced  a  change  imminent. 

The  fever  died  down  to  smouldering  embers,  staying 
so,  as  if  a  breath  might  fan  them  into  flames  again  along 
those  tortured  arteries.  Then  some  poison  touched  his 
brain,  so  he  noted  nothing  for  two  weeks  more,  but  grew 
whiter  and  thinner  day  by  day. 

'Lisbeth  had  watched  him  all  along  during  hours  of 
sleep ;  but  when  he  ceased  to  know  who  tended  at  any 
time,  she  kept  her  place  almost  continuously.  Mrs. 
Lane  and  Mrs.  Batchelder  spent  most  of  the  time  there, 
and  Mr.  King  hovered  round  the  house  constantly.  The 
doctor  ordered  a  curtain  up,  hoping  sunbeams  might 
rouse  him. 

Sometimes  the  patient  quickly  raised  his  restless  head 
as  though  trying  to  make  sure  of  some  half-understood 


344  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

sound,  and  immediately  was  lost  again.  At  last,  one 
night  when  Mrs.  Lane  and  'Lisbeth  watched,  about  mid- 
night he  stirred  uneasily  and  faintly  whispered,  "  'Lis- 
beth." 

She  was  beside  him,  and  bent  over,  saying  softly,  "I 
am  here,  father." 

A  feeble  smile  flitted  over  his  wan  visage,  but  it 
seemed  like  that  of  a  sleeping  child. 

"  0  father !  my  father  ! "  sobbed  the  girl ;  and  Mrs. 
Lane  led  her  out  and  soothed  her  to  sleep,  after  calling 
Mrs.  Wilson  and  Aunt  Seth. 

When  she  entered  the  east  room  the  next  morning  it 
was  flooded  with  sunshine  ;  a  meek  thankfulness  clothed 
dame  Wilson ;  and  Lettice's  eyes  were  swollen  with  tears, 
yet  she  was  humming,  "  I  bless  the  Lord,  he  heard  my 
cries ;  "  and  grandma,  unreproving,  kept  time  with  her 
foot. 

"  How  is  father  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Better ;  he  knows  your  mother  an'  all  of  'em." 

"  Since  when,  Lettice  ?  " 

"  Well,  soon  after  you  went  up-stairs,  it  seems  he  be- 
gun to  sleep  easy,  grew  moist  an'  cool,  stayin'  so  till 
past  daybreak.  Jest  as  the  -sun  riz  he  opened  his  eyes 
an'  called,  '  Marthy,'  an'  spoke  tew  the  others,  then 
slep'  ag'in,  so  it's  goin'  on.  I  carried  him  a  cup  of  crust 
coffee  ten  minits  ago,  an'  he  seemed  like  himself,  on'y 
weak  as  a  rat." 

The  King  sauntered  in  saying,  — 


Mr.  Wilson's  Illness  345 

"Here,  Lettice,  here's  some  bran  new  eggs  mother 
sent.  Ye  see,  'Lisbeth,  I  come  up  once  afore  this 
mornin'.  It's  all  right.  The  dogs  an'  me  are  startin' 
on  a  tramp." 

'Lisbeth  sank  into  a  chair.  Living,  he  became  dead 
to  her,  he  would  no  longer  tolerate  her  loving  ministra- 
tions. Between  them  a  soundless,  invisible  wall  had 
risen,  even  his  mighty  will.  But  he  was  better,  life 
was  returning  slowly,  and  how  thankful  she  was  ;  yes, 
utterly  blessed,  for  death  had  not  set  the  seal  of  eternal 
silence  at  the  sepulchre  door  of  a  father's  dead  affection, 
and  vital  sense  being  restored,  hope  for  renewal  of  lov- 
ing favor  was  revived,  also.  Still,  the  folding  of  hands 
that  had  been  so  swift  and  busy  would  be  very  hard ; 
and  what  time  must  one  wait,  if,  indeed,  relenting 
should  ever  come  ?  .  Lettice,  divining  her  thoughts, 
said,  — 

"  There,  now,  you've  been  cooped  up  a  long  spell ;  an' 
I  shouldn't  wonder  a  mite  nor  grain  if  you  could  find 
mayflowers  a'most  out  on  the  oak  knoll,  down  below 
the  ridge.  You  eat  breakfast,  an'  then  take  a  good  long 
run.  I'll  call  the  boys  an'  Dorothy." 

"  But,  Lettice,  are  you  sure  he  has  not  wandered 
since  ?  " 

"  Wandered !  good  land,  no ;  he's  clear  as  a  whistle, 
noticed  how  full  an'  red  the  buds  air,  an'  smiled  at  a 
robin's  chatter  in  the  cherry  tree.  He  couldn't  draw  a 
very  straight  furrer,  nor  help  Mr.  Tyrrell  pitch  corn 


346  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

stalks  from  the  high  beams ;  but  that  don't  signify,  he 
eat  all  the  breakfast  we  dast  give  him  an'  wanted  more, 
—  a  roast  tater  or  sum  thin." 

"  You  better  dew  as  Lettice  says  soon's  you're  through 
breakfast,"  added  the  dame  in  a  pacific  tone,  the  threat 
absent  from  her  cap-border. 

"  Here's  the  childern  an'  your  things.  Boys,  you 
want  Watch  tew  bark  at  the  fox  holes,  I  s'pose ;  call 
him." 

Rebuilding,  recreating  power  vivified  the  air,  burst 
from  the  sod,  swelled  tree  and  bush,  as  they  went  forth. 
Where  'Lisbeth's  foot  crushed  thin  frost-panes  over 
little  hollows,  there  green  grass  blades  sprang  beneath 
such  tiny  hot-bed  frames,  and  by  brook  banks  fern 
fronds  were  unrolling  at  the  sunny  foot  of  warming 
rocks.  She  was  blessed,  comforted,  the  more  so  as  one 
tenderly  harbored-  fancy  housed  itself  in  her  mind,  — 
what  if -her  father  did  realize  when  he  said  '"Lisbeth," 
at  midnight,  ah,  surely. 

For  three  days  thereafter  the  doctor  rubbed  his  hands 
more  and  more  gleefully  at  each  visit.  "  Sha'n't  come 
again  for  two  days,  Mrs.  Wilson.  We  can't  keep  him 
in  bed  much  longer;  nothing  but  restlessness  ails  him 
now." 

The  fifth  day  he  was  made  ready  to  receive  the 
doctor  in  state.  Another  thick  curtain  was  rolled  up, 
letting  in  the  full,  healing  sunbeams. 

"  You  certainly  look  like  yourself,  Thomas,"  said  his 


Mr.  Wilson's  Illness  347 

wife ;  and  he  smiled  up  to  her  so  lovingly  as  to  recall  a 
far  distant  memory. 

"  Yes,  I  am  weak  ;  but  life  has  come  back,  I  feel  sure 
of  that." 

His  eyes  wandered  to  a  pitcher  of  pussy  willows, 
whose  furry  buds  seemed  to  have  crawled  up  the  red 
stems  into  sunshine,  and  to  some  half-opened  mayflow- 
ers,  flinging  sweet  odors  from  tinted  cups. 

"  Who  picked  them,  Marthy  ?  " 

"  The  childern,"  and  she  started  to  go  out. 

"  Come  back  here,  mother."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
"  Did  'Lisbeth  come  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Thomas,"  she  replied,  trembling. 

«  When  ?  " 

"  A  few  minutes  after  the  doctor." 

"That  first  night?" 

"Yes." 

"I  hain't  heard  her  siugin',  an'  I  s'pose  she's  gone 
back  'fore  now." 

She  wondered  if  that  was  why  he  was  uneasy.  Did 
he  wish  her  out  of  the  house,  or  in  it  ? 

No  questions  could  be  asked;  and  she  tremblingly 
answered,  — 

"  No ;  she  is  at  home." 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  Winding  flax  on  the  distaff." 

"  Has  she  been  in  here- —  much  ?  " 

«  Yes." 


348  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"Was  she  here  when  I  woke  out  of  that  tarrible 
dream,  an'  fell  into  the  sleep  that  saved  me  ?  " 

"  She  was  here  till  after  midnight ;  you  were  sleep- 
ing sweetly  when  I  came  in  —  but  there,  father,  you 
mustn't  talk." 

She  shook  from  head  to  foot ;  but  her  husband  closed 
his  eyes  restfully,  and  remained  silent  till  the  door 
opened.  Then  he  said,  — 

.   "  Come  right  in,  Lettice.     I'm  tired  waitin'  for  that 
broth,  an'  I  hope  the  bowl's  .full." 

After  partaking  of  the  food,  he  said,- — 

"  There,  now,  you  both  go  out,  an'  send  'Lisbeth  in." 

"Why,  Thomas,  the  doc"- 

"  Send  'Lisbeth  in,  Marthy."  Both  women  were 
amazed,  but  Lettice  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"'Twon't  hurt  him  a  mite,  Mis'  Wilson.  Yes,  I'll 
find  her,"  she  nodded  to  the  sick  man,  and  led  his' wife 
out  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Don't  worry  'bout  it,  Mis'  Wilson ;  it'll  be  wuth  all 
the  doctor's  stuff,  and  all  the  roots  an'  arbs  in  our  ole 
garrit  tew  boot." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  doctor  drove  briskly  up,  and 
ran  in. 

"  How's  our  —  why,  Lettice,  what's  happened  ?  Is 
Mr.  Wilson  worse  ?  " 

"It's  my  'pinion,  Dr.  Good,  he's  better  this  blessid 
mornin'  than  he's  been  for  years,  an'  I  don't  know  but 
"allus.  But  I'm  most  'fraid  he'll  die,  an'  I  s'pose  I  bet- 
ter tell  you  jest  how  'tis." 


Father  Benson  Calls  on  Mr.  Wilson          349 

So  she  related  briefly  the  history  of  those  years  so 
full  of  pain,  adding,  "  Her  mother  an'  me  we  opened 
the  door  a  few  minits  ago;  she  looked  like  an  angil  if 
ever  there  was  one,  an'  her  father  was  sleepin',  paler 
but  quiet.  Either  he's  goin'  tew  die,  or  else  he  has 
made  a  sin-off erin'  for  his  soul,  cordin'  tew  Scripter." 
Tears  rained  down  the  poor  maid's  face,  but  the  doctor 
was  relieved. 

"I  knew  he  was  fretting,  and  it  was  this  that  kept 
him  back.  The  morning's  work  Avill  do  him  good,  I'll 
be  bound  ;  don't  worry.  I'm  going  to  Mrs.  Smith's,  and 
will  be  back  in  an  hour  or  so ;  let  him  sleep." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

FATHER    BENSON    CALLS    ON    MK.    WILSON 

No  other  syllable  was  ever  spoken  in  the  house  con- 
cerning the  unnatural  silence  between  those  two,  and 
none  ever  knew  what  passed  between  father  and  daugh- 
ter in  the  fore  room  that  April  morning.  'Lisbeth  was 
radiant ;  the  old  rippling  laughter  returned,  and  low 
sounds  of  hymns  and  ballads  followed  her  from  room 
to  room ;  yet  there  was  a  hint  of  pathetic  wistfulness, 
which  one  always  wears  after  shadow  and  sorrows  fall. 
It  is  a  sign  manual  testifying  that  some  time  love  has 
failed  or  hope  been  wrecked.  She  prepared  her  father's 


350  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

noon  repast  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  orarse,  and  carried 
the  refreshment  to  him  with  such  demure  happiness  as 
did  one's  heart  good  to  see. 

"  Here  is  a  fresh  egg,  and  a  piece  of  toast.  Lettice 
contributes  the  least  bit  of  jelly,  and  the  doctor  says 
you  are  to  have  a  chicken's  wing  tomorrow." 

He  grew  rapidly  better,  and  took  counsel  with  the 
squire  as  to  crops  and  stock.  By  the  last  of  May  he 
walked  slowly  into  the  near  fields  once  in  a  while,  but 
lived  out  of  the  house,  sitting  in  his  great  rockhig-chair 
placed  on  a  bear  skin  that  covered  grass  prinked  out 
with  dandelion  blossoms  and  shaded  by  the  blue-damson 
tree.  Here  in  his  front  yard,  with  grandma  knitting 
beside  him,  he  watched  'Lisbeth  and  her  mother  sow 
four-o'clock  and  morning-glory  seeds,  make  new  house- 
leek  beds,  transplant  roses  and  ladies'  delights,  and  trim 
lilacs.  Here  also,  beside  him,  'Lisbeth's  linen  wheel 
hummed  through  fair  afternoons,  and  his  wife  set  long 
delayed  stitches.  One  day  he  told  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
'Lisbeth  that  he  had  requested  Squire  Baker  to  ask 
Father  Benson  if  he  would  call  on  his  way  to  Confer- 
ence, which  met  in  June.  He  had  been  unjust  to  the 
circuit-rider,  he  said,  and  harsh  in  speech  concerning 
him  and  his  calling ;  so  both  women  rightly  guessed  Mr. 
Wilson  desired  to  atone  for  such  perverseness.  'Lisbeth 
fixed  her  gaze  upon  the  Pond,  and  a  hope,  like  the  first 
tiny  bud  of  spring,  swelled  in  her  heart.  Perhaps  some 
day  he  would  make  reparation  for  a  greater  fault.  She 


Father  Benson  Calls  on  Mr.  Wilson  351 

remembered  when  he  sent  for  her  he  took  all  blame  to 
himself,  but  she  recollected  also  that  not  a  single  breath 
concerning  John  escaped  his  lips.  She  sighed,  and  went 
into  the  house. 

Not  long  after,  near  noon,  as  'Lisbeth  read  to  her 
father,  the  dappled  gray,  bearing  his  martial  rider, 
trotted  carefully  down  schoolhouse  hill.  He  thrust  his 
ears  forward  inquiringly  when  the  drawing  rein  turned 
him  towards  the  unaccustomed  house ;  but  he  cantered 
gayly  up  to  the  invalid,  nodded  his  head,  blinked  his 
eyes,  and  champed  his  bit,  as  saying,— 

"My  master  reins  me  hither.  I  must  needs  come, 
but  am  very  puzzled  about  it." 

"Good-morning,  brother,"  spoke  the  sweet-voiced 
preacher,  throwing  himself  from  the  saddle,  "are  you 
much  better  ?  " 

"  I'm  nigh  well.  'Lisbeth,  call  the  boys  to  take  care 
of  the  horse.  Won't  you  sit  down  here  ?  I  like  bein' 
out  of  doors." 

'Lisbeth  pulled  some  clover  heads  for  the  horse  as 
she  returned,  which  he  took,  gratefully  whinnying. 

"  It  is  comin'  noontime,  an'  we  shall  be  glad  to  have 
you  take  dinner  with  us  if  you  will." 

The  preacher's  deep  eyes  glowed. 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  break  bread  with  you,  but  I 
must  be  gone  soon  after.  Conference  meets  in  ten  days, 
and  I  have  matters  of  importance  on  the  road  between 
here  and  Lynn." 


352  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  'Lisbeth,  tell  your  mother  Mr.  Benson  will  take 
dinner  with  us." 

Lettice  heard  the  message,  and  straightway  went  to 
the  window,  impressed  that  age  had  dulled  her  hearing; 
but  there  was  Father  Benson  in  plain  evidence. 

"Well,  I'm  beat,"  said  she  to  her  friend,  Mary  Sy- 
mons ;  "  'tis  Father  Benson,  sure  as  you  live,  an'  Mr. 
Wilson  has  fit  and  contended,  an'  sot  his  foot  down  that 
he  never  ort  tew  darken  an  orthodox  door.  I  dew 
wonder  what  next.  Seems  tew  me  rumatiz  clears  up 
some  like  a  thunder  shower." 

'Lisbeth  did  not  return  to  them,  knowing  her  father 
would  wish  to  be  alone.  Serious  tones  gave  place  to 
lighter  ones,  and,  going  to  bring  them  in  to  dinner, 
'Lisbeth  found  her  sire  enjoying  stories  of  perilous  and 
laughable  adventure ;  for  his  guest  possessed  much 
charm  as  a  narrator,  allied  to  grace  and  courage  in  the 
exercise  of  his  holy  calling. 

After  dinner  the    circuit-rider    asked  leave  to  pray, 

which  he  did  with  such  uplifting  fervor  and  childlike 

faith,  such  perfect  trust  and  absolute  nearness  to  Al- 

-  mighty  Love,  as  blessed  the  members  of  that  household 

to  their  lives'  end.     Then  he  sung,  — 

"Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds 
Our  hearts  in  Christian  love." 

Father  Benson  promised  to  repeat  his  visit  as  he  came 
back ;  for,  his  field  of  labor  being  farther  away,  oppor- 


Father  Benson  Calls  on  Mr.  Wilson          353 

tunities  for  visiting  Mr.  Wilson  would  be  infrequent. 
Then  he  went  away  saying  to  himself,  — 

"  How  he  has  grown  in  grace,  blessed  be  God."  And 
the  farmer,  watching  the  horseman  disappearing  behind 
the  little  barn,  thought,  "Verily,  Christ's  spirit  dwells 
in  him,  though  his  creed  is  so  wrong  and  upsetting." 

Mr.  Wilson  joyfully  anticipated  Father  Benson's  re- 
turn, which  occurred  the  last  of  June,  when  they  walked 
the  fields  together  till  late  afternoon,  the  minister  being 
obliged  to  leave  only  in  season  to  reach  West  Plymouth 
by  early  candlelight,  where  he  would  preach  the  Word 
to  the  flock  he  once  shepherded. 

The  next  week,  about  the  middle  of  one  afternoon, 
Mr.  Wilson  was  very  anxious  about  his  paper.  Work 
drove,  but  he  could  not  be  disappointed ;  so  he  remarked 
to  his  wife, — 

"This  is  Thursday;  our  paper  comes  to-day.  We 
need  the  boys,  an'  'Lisbeth  better  go  for  it  if  you  don't 
want  her.  Besides,  I'm  lookin'  for  a  package  she  can 
bring  better  'n  they." 

"  She  will  be  glad  to  go ;  and  I  want  to  send  an  errant 
to  Mis'  Harmon's,  'bout  a  reed.  She  can  call  coming 
back." 

"  The  stage  will  leave  that  package  to  the  blacksmith's, 
same  as  the  paper,  'Lisbeth,"  said  he,  as  she  came  out, 
clad  in  a  blue-and-white  linen  dress,  with  a  piece  of  lace 
coming  from  under  her  half-high  bodice  and  run  into  a 
ruffle  close  about  her  throat  by  blue  ribbon.  He  ob- 


354  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

served  her  anxiously,  as  she  went  down  over  the  little 
barn  hill,  and  seemed  restless  when  she  disappeared; 
indeed,  he  was  so  always,  even  if  she  but  journeyed 
from  room  to  room.  Lettice,  near  by,  rapped  her  snuff 
box  and  nodded  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  saying,  — 

"-I've  seen  folks  traipsin'  roun'  on  thistles,  or  tryin' 
tew  'fore  now ;  but,  judgin'  by  eyesight,  they're  fur  from 
comf'table." 

"I'll  go  down  an'  see  Mr.  Tyrrell  'bout  helpin'  Mr. 
Lane  with  his  hayin'  to-morrer,  Marthy,  'fore  'Lisbeth 
gits  back  with  our  paper." 

She  soon  reached  the  broken  level  that  ran  past  Mr. 
King's  into  the  woods.  She  pulled  her  calash  off,  and, 
full  of  glad  young  life,  sprang  along  between  rows  of 
waxing  verdure  sprinkled  with  myriad  wayside  blooms. 
Bees  murmured  among  bending  clovers,  and  humming- 
birds drew  honied  stores  from  deep  flower  chalices. 
Every  nook,  even  the  air  itself,  was  full  of  vigorous  life 
and  echoing  melody.  The  forest  shadows  were  cool  and 
grateful  as  she  entered  them,  and  the  beautiful  hem- 
locks were  tipped  as  to  each  twig  with  tufts  of  vivid 
green ;  beech  and  oak  swung  their  light  foliage  to  the 
breeze.  Woven  amongst  the  verdancy  swayed  heavy 
white  heads  of  moosewood  blooms,  and  underfoot  were 
violets  of  many  hues,  and  delicate  ferns.  A  few  rods 
into  the  woods  a  short  sandy  hill  descended  to  a  stony, 
full-banked  brook,  crossed  by  a  heavy  plank  bridge. 
The  gully  was  deep  and  very  cool,  and  the  waters  mur- 


Father  Benson  Calls  on  Mr.  Wilson          355 

mured  fondly  to  their  banks  bordered  with  moss  and 
fern.  Squirrels  chattered  gayly  as  they  whisked  back 
and  forth  upon  the  lichened  stringers,  hiding  for  a 
second  in  tall  brakes  growing  at  either  end.  She 
gathered  her  hands  full  of  violets  and  partridge-vines, 
and  drew  herself  to  a  seat  on  a  great  rock  beside  a 
stringer,  to  knot  them  and  think  of  him  who  loved  her, 
and  who  also  delighted  in  those  exquisite  growths  of 
woody  dells.  The  King's  averment  that  he  "was 
John,  jest  John,"  was  comforting,  though  he  was  far 
from  that  glorious  budding  arid  blossoming,  that  blithe 
trilling  of  nesting  birds  and  song  of  falling  waters. 

If  he  would  come  then,  she  reasoned,  while  Mr. 
Wilson's  conciliatory  habit  -lasted  and  unwonted  be- 
nignity held  mastery,  surely  justice  would  be  rendered 
to  them.  The  tares  of  the  evil  one  might  choke  the 
gracious  crop  which  was  surely  breaking  through  the 
storm-swept  soil  of  her  father's  heart.  Ought  she  not 
to  hasten  his  coming  by  sending  a  message,  if  the  King 
would  undertake  it,  and  tell  him  now  was  the  favored 
time  to  draw  hitherward  ?  The  cumbering  revery  was 
so  deep,  she  heard  no  footsteps  down  the  opposite  sandy 
incline,  nor  noticed  a  youth  who  strode  eagerly  to  the 
bridge,  then  stopped,  arrested  by  a  figure  seated  in  such 
a  patient,  waiting  attitude  upon  a  rock.  For  a  moment, 
it  seemed  as  if  not  only  motion,  but  breath  itself,  was 
hushed  in  him ;  then  a  great  light  shone  in  his  face,  and 
he  pulled  his  cap  off  and  strode  forward.  A  swift  foot- 


356  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

fall  smote  her  ear  as  it  struck  the  bridge,  yet  she  hardly 
collected  her  mind  enough  to  marvel  what  neighbor 
came  up  and  crossed  the  bridge  with  such  fleet  strides. 
Suddenly  she  raised  her  eyes  to  see,  then  slipped  from 
the  rock,  scattering  vines  and  violets  round  her  feet. 
Mechanically  she  put  a  hand  above  her  eyes  as  if  to 
clear  their  vision,  then  clasped  them  in  the  old  way  and 
leaned  forward  wonderingly. 

"  'Lisbeth,"  he  called,  swinging  his  cap.  Yes,  it  was 
he,  her  lover,  John,  his  chestnut  hair,  his  matching 
eyes ;  yet  an  air  of  great  humility  stole  into  his  manner 
as  he  approached  her. 

"  'Lisbeth,  my  love ;  'Lisbeth." 

Slowly  she  raised  a  hand  and  touched  his  face,  whis- 
pering his  name. 

"But,  'Lisbeth,"  he  asked  after  a  while,  "why  are 
you  so  surprised  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Surprised  ?  why,  because  you  wrote  to  Mrs.  Lane 
you  were  not  coming." 

"  That  was  before  I  heard." 

"  I  cannot  understand  anything  about  it." 

"  Did  you  not  come  to  meet  me  ?  I  thought  so.  Sit 
down  on  the  rock  again,  —  don't  tremble  so,  —  and  tell 
me  where  you  were  going." 

"  To  Brainard's  corner,  for  father's  paper." 

"I  have  it.     I  remembered  it  was  due  to-day." 

«  You  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  recollected  to-day  is  Thursday." 


Father  Benson  Calls  on  Mr.  Wilson  357 

«  Taking  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  provided  I  remember  it  after  reaching 
the  house." 

"  Oh,  I  was  to  bring  a  package  too ;  I  forgot  it." 

Light  dawned  upon  the  young  man  when  the  per- 
plexed girl  made  that  statement. 

"  What  sort  of  a  bundle  was  this  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  But  you  were  to  take  it  home  ?  " 

"Yes."    . 

"  My  dear,  what  if  I  am  the  bundle  ?  " 

"  You  ?     No,  he  sent  for  this  one." 

"  He  sent  for  me." 

"  Sent  ?  —  my  father  —  sent  for  you  ?  " 

"  He  did,  'Lisbeth,  by  Father  Benson ;  or,  rather, 
commanded  my  immediate  presence  here.  He  knew  I 
was  coming  on  this  afternoon  stage ;  that  is,  if  Father 
Benson  has  returned  from  Conference." 

"  He  has,  but  what  has  he  to  do  about  you  ?  Why 
don't  you  explain  things  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  I  know  is  this :  your  uncle  requested  Father 
Benson  to  call  at  your  house  on  his  way  to  Conference. 
He  did  so ;  and  your  father  asked  him  to  find  me  and 
say  that  he  wished  me  to  come  home  immediately,  and 
here  I  am." 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  John,  I  don't  see  how  it  is,"  said  she, 
smoothing  her  forehead  in  a  puzzled  fashion. 

"  If  you  will  kindly  take  me  to  your  father,  perhaps 


358  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

lie  can  explain,  and  I  am  sure  your  errand  will  be 
done." 

"  But  why  didn',t  father  "  - 

"  Never  mind ;  we  will  inquire  if  I  am  the  expected 
bundle.  Easy  enough  to  take  me  back  and  exchange, 
you  know." 

They  went  hand  in  hand  out  of  the  forest.  As  they 
reached  a  point  opposite  the  King's  gate,  dame  King 
saw  them  from  where  the  family  sat  at  table. 

"  Good  land,  who's  that  ?  'Lisbeth,  ain't  it  ?  Yes ; 
but  who  under  the  sun  is  that  feller?  My  stars, 
David,"  rushing  to  the  door,  "  I  do  b'leve  —  you  come 
here,  quick,  ain't  that " 

"  Yis,  'tis ;  'tis  jest  him."  Mr.  King  was  out  at  one 
bound.  "Hi,  whoop,  hoo-oo-o-o,"  he  whistled  through 
his  hands.  John  swung  his  hat,  and  sent  a  happy  hello 
adown  the  orchard.  The  women  waved  their  aprons, 
the  dogs  barked,  and  Mrs.  King  suggested,  — 

"  Le's  cut  acrost  the  orchard  an'  speak  tew  him  over 
the  fence  ;  "  but  her  husband  knowingly  replied,  — 

"  There's  folks  nuff  out  in  the  road,  Nabby ;  you  ain't 
needed." 

There  was  no  make  believe  or  acting  between  the  two 
men  when  they  met ;  both  were  clear-cut,  honest,  Chris- 
tian, and  they  greeted  each  other  as  such  men  would. 
When  John  hastened  to  meet  Mr.  Wilson,  who  was 
going  towards  him  ('Lisbeth  ran  in  at  the  east  door),  the 
stern  man,  aged  and  mellowed  by  his  journey  to  the 
very  marge  of  eternal  boundaries,  heartily  said,  — 


Father  Benson  Calls  on  Mr.  Wilson  359 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  John;  and  you're  kindly  wel- 
come, else  I  shouldn't  sent.  I  can't  say  but  I  should  be 
better  pleased  if  'Lisbeth  was  goin'  to  marry  some  man 
of  our  own  denomination ;  but  she  ain't,  an'  can't.  There's 
nothin'  changin'  'bout  'Lisbeth,  an'  I've  been  so  close  to 
eternity  that  I  realize  it'll  take  mor'n  creeds  to  save  a 
soul." 

The  young  man  choked,  and  clung  speechless  to  the 
thin  hand,  looking  away  to  Sugarloaf,  whose  shadow 
before  the  lowering  sun  came  well  nigh  across  the  Pond. 
At  that  moment  the  tissue  of  earthly  living  fell  apart, 
and  the  substance  of  immortal  existence  became  real ; 
he  confronted  and  understood  his  own  heart's  faithful 
devotion,  and  the  mightier,  holier  mystery  of  Divine 
Love.  He  recognized  also  the  grandeur  of  Mr.  Wilson's 
character,  and  the  benignity  of  his  yielding ;  and  he  an- 
swered very  slowly,  — 

"  You  know  me ;  what  I  have  been,  I  am.  At  least,  I 
can  hereafter  be  no  less  than  now ;  but  I  am  not  worthy 
of  her  —  no  man  could  be  that;  still,  I  may  say,  and 
ought  to  say,  that  I  have  kept  free  from  every  folly, 
determined  to  bring  to  this  day,  that  I  knew  was  com- 
ing, all  the  manhood  with  which  God  endowed  me." 

"  I  have  no  fear  for  her  or  you,"  answered  Mr.  Wil- 
son, proudly  scanning  the  splendid  youth. 

"But,  Mr.  Wilson,  whether  this  blessing  comes 
through  foreordination  or  free  will,  I  am  equally 
thankful." 


360  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  It  stands  to  my  reason  and  conscience  that  it  is 
foreordained,  John;  but  here  comes  mother  an'  Lettice 
an'  the  boys,  they're  all  glad." 

"  Speakin'  of  merrycles,"  said  Lettice  to  Tom,  as  she 
swung  up  the  tin  baker  cover  to  look  at  the  biscuit 
browning  before  the  fire,  "  'tain't  no  use  to  deny  'em  — 
I  do  hope  there  ain't  a  grain  tew  much  sal'ratus  in  these 
biscuits ;  you  jest  bring  me  a  glass  of  barb'ry  jell  for 
these  tarts,  Tom  —  'tain't  no  use  tew  deny  'em,  not  a 
mite,  for  there's  a  real  live  one  settin'  out  in  our  front 
yard  this  minnit." 

'Lisbeth  made  even  her  brothers  proud,  as  she  sat 
beside  her  father  at  supper,  in  the  seat  to  which  she 
was  reinstated  when  he  first  broke  bread  with  his  family 
after  those  weeks  of  desperate  illness,  so  shy,  so  con- 
stantly changing  color,  so  comely  and  happy. 

"  I  must  see  Aunt  Nancy,  Mrs.  Wilson/'  John  said. 
"  May  'Lisbeth  walk  up  with  me  ?  I  will  bring  her 
home." 

Of  course  she  went.  Reaching  the  half-way  mark  he 
said,  — 

"  How  fragrant  the  sweetbrier  is,  'Lisbeth,"  and  led 
her  for  a  while  to  the  old  birch  seat  under  the  spicy 
canopy,  then  they  went  on  again  towards  the  little 
brown  house  whose  lichened  boards  and  shingles  were 
so  homely  and  so  dear. 

A  trim  figure  leaned  against  the  well-curb,  bonnet  in 
hand,  facing  partly  from  them  and  waiting.  His  heart 


The  End  361 

bounded  at  sight  of  her,  and  pained  him  a  trifle  too ;  for 
she  looked  older,  and  a  faint  shadow,  tinremembered, 
had  settled  on  the  cheery  countenance.  Dear  little 
woman !  how  those  busy  brown  hands  had  toiled  *for 
him,  and  how  white  they  would  become  when  the  Mas- 
ter blessed  them  for  their  long,  willingly  wrought  tasks 
for  his  little  ones  !  Mr.  Lane  came  round  the  corner 
and  she  called  to  him,  — 

"  Mr.  Lane,  I  kinder  want  to  see  how  Mr.  Wilson  gits 
along,  so  I  thought  I'd  slip  on  my  bonnet  and  run  down. 
Do  you  want  me  to  see  about  the  haying  ?  " 

But  he  paid  no  attention,  regarding  something  beyond 
her  with  amazement.  She  started  towards  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?     Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"  Jest  look  behind  you ;  "  and  she  did. 


CHAPTEE   XXXIV 

THE    END 

LONG  before  dark  the  next  day  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood was  rejoicing  because  John  Mayhew  had  returned. 
It  knew  also  that  he  supped  at  Farmer  Wilson's  before 
going  home,  and  that  'Lisbeth  kept  him  company  to  his 
aunt's  at  sunset,  and  it  was  glad  of  it. 

Gossip  and  bickering  were  foreign  to  that  soil ;  it  was 
an  orthodox  relief,  whether  shared  by  Congregational- 


362  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

ists  or  what  not,  when  the  time  was  ripe  to  weed  out 
and  consume  them,  root  and  branch.  Huldah  took 
snuff  vehemently  and  thoughtfully,  then  went  off  visit- 
ing. The  rest  proved  the  adage,  "  All  the  world  loves  a 
lover,"  to  be  entirely  true. 

John  and  'Lisbeth  rode  out  to  Plymouth  next  morn- 
ing to  visit  at  the  squire's.  As  they  passed  each  neigh- 
bor's house,  its  dwellers  ran  to  the  road  from  in-doors  or 
field  especially  to  greet  John,  honest  if  unspoken  joy 
beaming  from  their  true  faces,  whether  under  sun- 
bonnet  or  straw  hat. 

All  who  under  perverse  guidance  had  unwittingly 
wronged  John  in  their  silent  or  spoken  judgment,  made 
haste  in  their  own  quaint  and  quiet  fashion  to  testify 
their  pride  in  his  verified  manhood.  And  he  kept  to 
the  old  ways  as  if  there  had  been  no  fault  in  the 
past.  He  helped  Mr.  Lane  at  odd  times  in  the  fields ; 
stalked  over  Mr.  Wilson's  farm  after  haymakers  and 
harvesters  ;  lined  bees  with  the  King,  following  his  long 
stride  with  boyish  glee ;  became  mediator  between  him 
and  the  farmers  whose  cornfields  he  and  his  dogs  had 
trampled ;  held  grandma's  yarn  (the  cap-frill  had  be- 
come strangely  pacific) ;  sat  with  his  aunt  and  Louisa 
on  the  garden  bank  by  the  hollyhocks,  where  Father 
Benson  spent  an  hour  so  long  before,  and  she  told  him 
of  his  parents,  and  made  many  wise  suggestions  for  his 
new  home,  as  she  sewed  or  knit.  As  for  quilting  and 
visitings,  Huldah  said  they  were  "  thicker'n  black- 


The  End  363 

berries ;  nobody  couldn't  do  more  for  tew  folks  if  they'd 
been  Sol'mon  and  the  Queen  of  Sheby." 

The  village  people  claimed  part  of  his  time,  which  he 
gladly  spent  merry-making  there ;  but  best  of  all  were 
rambles  with  'Lisbeth  through  cool  woods  on  late  after- 
noons, and  homecomings  in  the  moonlit  splendor  of 
dewy  eves.  What  with  'Lisbeth's  wedding  in  early 
October,  and  preparations  for  housekeeping  afterward, 
it  was  in  truth  a  busy  summer.  Lettice,  as  chief  of 
happy  toilers,  was,  as  she  expressed  it,  — 

"  Chock  full  of  business  ?  Well,  I  guess  so.  For 
the  land's  sake,  merried  in  three  months,  an'  not  a 
livin'  thing  ready,  nor  a  stitch  sot." 

After  they  had  composed  their  minds,  Mr.  Wilson  and 
his  wife  went  to  Plymouth  to  buy  the  wedding  gowns, 
first  consulting  Mrs.  Baker  and  Lois. 

"White,  Aunt  Martha,  for  the  wedding  dress." 

"  But  it  will  be  October,  Lois." 

"  White  is  the  only  color  fit  for  'Lisbeth,  if  'twas  Jan- 
uary. She  must  have  fine  muslin,  embroidered  in  apple- 
blossoms  by  Lois  Baker." 

Mr.  Wilson  listened,  and  added  decidedly,  — 

"  Lois  is  right,  Marthy." 

So  it  was  bought,  also  a  green  and  dark  red  change- 
able silk,  which  they  planned  to  make  with  four 
breadths,  short  full  waist,  and  broad  belt.  It  must  be 
gathered  into  narrow  bands  at  the  low  neck,  which  must 
be  filled  in  with  lace ;  its  large  sleeves  lined  with  calico, 


364  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

for  which  they  paid  seventy-five  cents  a  yard.  The 
thick  silk  cost  a  dollar  a  yard,  and  would  wear  twenty 
years. 

"  She  will  need  another  silk  gown,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Don't  buy  it  to-day,  Aunt  Martha ;  you  will  have  to 
buy  some  camlet  for  her  dress  and  cloak  to  journey  in, 
cloak  lining,  some  lace,  and  all  the  other  trimmings. 
They've  got  the  prettiest  camlet  —  plum-color  —  lovely. 
I've  been  over  everything  in  the  store." 

Lois  had  regularly  invoiced  the  stock  of  dry  goods  for 
her  father,  who,  owning  a  peculiar  nearness  and  affection 
for  the  promised  bride,  proposed  to  bestow  various  gifts, 
among  others  a  piece  of  dove-colored  satin  sprinkled 
with  clusters  of  sweetbrier  roses  and  wood  violets, 
which  Lois'  constructive  genius,  aided  by  a  dressmaker, 
had  already  fashioned  (she  could  wear  her  cousin's 
dresses)  into  a  gown  having  five  breadths  for  its  short 
train,  a  short  pointed  bodice,  low  neck,  to  be  worn 
with  a  beautiful  stomacher  of  embroidery,  high  puffed 
sleeves,  with  wide  frills  of  English  lace  depending  from 
them. 

"  I  don't  see  but  you  will  have  to  spare  Lois  to  us," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson,  as  they  returned  from  the  store. 
Mrs.  Baker  assented ;  and  Lois  presumed  she  should 
"come  in  very  handy,"  shaking  her  bright  head,  and 
adding  that  she  wished  to  stay  most  of  the  remaining 
time  with  'Lisbeth,  and  so  the  squire  carried  her  out  a 
day.  or  two  after,  dove-colored  satin  and  all. 


The  End  365 

Towards  evening  one  day,  Mrs.  Lane  came  down  to 
see  the  new  things,  John  being  appointed  special  mes- 
senger. The  goods  were  gently  smoothed,  held  to  the 
light,  praised,  folded,  and  put  back  again  into  lavender- 
scented  drawers. 

"  I  was  coining  down  a  minit,  anyway,"  said  she,  "  to 
tell  you  what  John  has  up  to  our  house.  I'm  so  glad 
they  air  going  to  housekeeping." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  "  'Lisbeth's  always  had  a 
home  of  her  own,  an'  she's  goin'  tew,  right  along,  I 
calc'late." 

"  Well,  I've  kept  his  mother's  things  for  him  ;  there's 
two  large  chests  of  linen  and  blankets,  some  of  the 
sheets  and  pillowcases  are  plain,  some  hemstitched.  We 
found  towels  of  all  kinds ;  nice  ones,  netted,  some  of 
them,  and  common  ones ;  netted  tablecloths  and  fringed 
ones,  beside  several  plain  hemmed.  Loizy  and  I  have 
been  looking  them  over ;  they're  most  as  good  as  new, 
and  so  is  her  chiny,  not  a  piece  broke  or  cracked,  nor  a 
spoon  of  her  silver  lost,  and  she  had  a  good  deal  besides 
the  silver  tea-set  and  coffee-urn  'John's  father  had  fall 
to  him." 

"  'Lisbeth  has  a  good  many  towels,  plain  or  bird's-eye, 
or  fox  and  gee  je,  tablecloths  too ;  she's  knit  edging,  oak- 
leaf  pattern,  and  other  kinds  for  them  she  thought  was 
nice  enough  to  put  any  on ;  one  tablecloth  has  edging 
most  a  finger  wide,  and  some  towels  have ;  but  Lettice  is 
ready  to  spool  the  web  we  had  ready  when  father  wns 
taken  sick,"  answered  Mrs.  Wilson. 


366  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

"  I  wouldn't  weave  another  thread ;  they'll  have 
enough  to  set  up  housekeeping  for  a  dozen." 

"I'll  see  what  Lettice  thinks.  Lettice  !  Lettice  ! " 
she  called,  going  towards  a  window  as  the  maid  came 
in,  "  Why,  Lettice,  isn't  that  "  - 

"  Huldy  ?     Yes,  'tis.     I'm  glad  you  called  me." 

"  What  did  she  want  ?  " 

"  Tew  peek  an'  squeeze  in,  an'  have  sunthin'  or  other 
tew  tell  on." 

"  I  hope  you  minded  your  manners." 

"  Yes'm,  I  did,"  she  replied  dryly ;  "  she  ast  me  if  she 
could  dew  anything  tew  help  us ;  says  she  feels  for  us, 
with  so  much  on  our  hands ;  an'  I  tole  her  no,  I  didn't 
b'leve  there  was  a  livin'  thing  more  she  could  dew." 

"  Why,  Lettice  !  " 

"Law,  she  didn't  take  ;  she  was  tickled,  an'  went  right 
on  sayin'  if  we  did  want  her  jest  give  a  hint  on't,  she'd 
come  day  or  night." 

"  Did  you  answer  properly  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  ;  'cording  to  what  you  call  proper.  I  tole 
•her  we  shouldn't  need  watchers  probably,  an'  I  despised 
hintin',  an'  never  practised  it;  but  if  she  was  wanted 
we'd  speak  right  up  an'  let  her  know.  I  s'pose  Isaiah 
Holmes  would  come  tew,  bein'  sent  for;  though  it's  as 
funny  as  ever  I  see  or  ever  was,  how  much  less  'tention 
cooper's  timber  needs  this  summer  than  it  did  last." 

"  Their  fault  may  make  them  humble,  Lettice." 

"  Humble  ?  I  guess  so  !  They  don't  look  much  like 
leek  eatin'  critters." 


The  End  367 

"  Remember  the  commandments,  Lettice." 

"  I  try  tew  an'  mean  tew,  Mis'  Wilson ;  but  as  long  as 
I  live,  speakin'  the  name  of  Isaiah  Holmes  or  Huldy 
Moses  will  set  my  teeth  on  aidge  wuss'n  sorrel.  What 
did  you  call  me  for  ?  " 

"  Mis'  Lane  thinks  we  better  not  put  in  our  linen  web. 
You  talk  it  over  with  her." 

The  three  women  finally  concluded  there  were  house- 
hold goods  enough  and  to  spare.  Then  Mrs.  Lane 
asked,  — 

"  Lettice,  what  are  you  going  to  wear  at  the  wed- 
ding ?  " 

"  I  hain't  a  gown  fit.  I'm  goin'  tew  buy  a  new  one, 
an'  have  it  made  by  a  dressmaker.  I've  been  thinkin'  " 
—  she  was  silent  a  moment  before  inquiring  shyly,  — 

"  Mis'  Wilson,  do  you  an'  'Lisbeth  think  I  could  wear 
silk-an-wool  stuff  —  mouse  color  ?  I  kinder  want  sun- 
thin'  'sides  black." 

Lois  clapped  her  hands,  ran  up-stairs,  and  returned 
bearing  a  bundle. 

"  There,  Lettice,  see  what  fuss  you  have  saved  us ; 
mother  sent  the  very  thing  you  want,  and  we've  been 
trembling  for  fear  you'd  try  to  change  it  for  black,  and 
meant  you  shouldn't." 

<•'  Why,  Lois  !  Dear  me,  suz !  There  !  This  is  a  dret- 
ful  nice  piece,  but  how  did  your  mother  happen  tew 
think  of  me  ?  " 

"That  is  a  mystery,  Lettice;   but  mother  has  queer 


368  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

spells.  We  never  mind  them,  or  else  she'd  thought  of 
the  rest  of  us  till  she  was  tired,  and  remembered  you  to 
rest  her.  'Lisbeth  has  some  rose-tinted  lute-string  rib- 
bon to  tie  your  gold  beads." 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  look  well  in  this,  'Lisbeth/' 
she  asked,  regarding  the  cloth  lovingly. 

"  Certainly,  else  Aunt  Lois  would  not  send  it ;  but," 
she  added,  smoothing  the  plain  face,  "  you  would  be 
lovely  to  me  in  any  color." 

Lettice's  cup  was  full ;  she  burst  into  tears  and  went 
out. 

Planning  and  making,  packing  and  nailing  boxes,  went 
on  till  sumachs  flung  their  crimson  guidons  out,  waving 
to  forest  and  grove,  weed  and  quivering  fern,  to  follow 
in  long  battalions  of  gold  and  crimson,  russet  and  ochre. 

October  first  was  set  for  the  marriage,  and  Lettice 
required  ample  time  to  "furnish  forth  the  marriage 
feast." 

Tom  and  Jack  were  warned  not  to  appear  in  the 
kitchen,  except  to  deposit  ovenwood,  after  she  and  her 
assistants,  Eunice  and  Louisa,  were  installed  therein  for 
festive  purposes. 

Lettice  went  from  pantry  to  oven,  to  a  table  where 
Louisa  crimped  tart  shells,  to  another  where  Eunice 
pounded  in  the  mortar  and  sifted  loaf  sugar,  or  wher- 
ever either  or  both  were  busy,  with  an  ever-anxious 
manner,  from  day  to  day. 

Had  that  week   of   baking  been  her  very  first,  she 


The  End  369 

might  have  been  haunted  by  fewer  fears,  judging  from 
the  number  of  times  she  took  her  helpmeets  to  the 
oven,  and  pulled  the  door  open  a  little  bit,  so  they  could 
"  jest  peek  in  an'  see ;  "  or  with  them  sat  in  official  state 
before  receipts  for  compounding  cake  and  sweetmeats, 
or  balanced  scales  exactly  between  citron,  mace,  and 
raisins. 

Many  village  people  were  invited  to  the  wedding,  and 
no  neighbor  was  unasked  ;  nor  did  one  ever  forget  that 
glorious  day,  —  its  balmy  air,  and  pervading  sense  of 
Sabbath  peace,  while  the  hills  burned  and  glowed,  and 
the  Pond  lay  calm  and  silvery  at  their  feet. 

Brilliantly  flowering  nasturtiums  climbed  over  brown 
window  casings  and  browner  clapboards.  China  asters 
and  bachelor's  buttons  nodded  demurely  to  arriving 
guests,  came  they  afoot,  in  chaise,  or  on  horseback. 

Gay  groups  of  young  men  and  maidens  kept  com- 
pany with  fathers  and  mothers,  who  wandered  over  the 
grassy  dooryards,  or  plucked  flowers  or  sprigs  of  south- 
ernwood while  awaiting  the  marriage  service. 

Women  from  round  about,  for  the  most  part,  wore 
homespun  or  stuff  gowns ;  dames  from  the  village 
dressed  in  taffetas  or  brocades,  many  of  them  fash- 
ioned for  their  own  bridals.  Love  and  experience  had 
woven  rich  memories  into  those  garments ;  they  signi- 
fied the  fulness  of  a  harvest  home,  and  fittingly  sur- 
rounded those  two  whose  love  was  planted  in  hopeless 
furrows,  throve  despite  tares  and  tempests,  and  that 


370  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

day  settled  upon  them  for  all  time  the  wealth  of  its 
serenely  garnered  trust  and  truth. 

Campton's  Light  Infantry  Captain  and  Lois  Baker, 
Richard  Sleeper  and  Euth,  escorted  the  bridal  couple  to 
a  place  between  the  south  windows  of  the  forerooin. 
It  was  a  satisfactory  pair  standing  before  the  minister, 
in  the  hush  and  coolness  of  that  sunshiny,  quaint  old 
room,  at  noontide,  so  many  years  ago;  she  so  sweet  and 
pensive,  he  so  trustworthy  and  noble. 

The  austere  ceremony  was  performed  without  a  ring, 
but  exhortation  and  prayer  were  wearily  long. 

When  it  was  over,  friends  and  neighbors  closed 
primly  around  them,  rejoicing,  yet  hearing  an  under- 
chord  to  their  gladness,  for  'Lisbeth,  the  beloved,  was 
going  away. 

Phil  and  Eunice  were  at  Lettice's  right  hand,  obeying 
her  every  mandate  from  morning  till  night. 

Upon  a  garlanded  table  under  the  blue-damson  tree 
'Lisbeth  cut  the  bride  cake. 

Then  followed  ribbon-decked  grace-hoops,  battledores, 
and  feather-full  shuttlecocks,  leading  jolly  pastime 
where  John  and  'Lisbeth  moved  from  group  to  group, 
staying  at  each  step  for  good  wishes  and  bridal  compli- 
ments. They  petted  her  after  a  staid  manner,  smoothed 
her  white  dress,  praised  her  proud  young  husband,  then 
turned  away  to  hide  quivering  lips ;  for  it  was  a  great 
journey  and  a  far  one  to  the  foreland  city  by  Bunker 
Hill.  One  and  another  of  the  young  men  essayed  to 


The  End  371 

* 

throw  a  grace-hoop  over  her  head  as  she  went  by ;  but 
she  blithesomely  evaded  all  till  she  came  where  Phil 
and  his  rosy  wife  played  against  Ruth  and  Dick.  Phil 
dexterously  poised  a  hoop  on  the  tapering  grace-sticks 
and  spun  it,  enringing  her,  its  gay  ribbons  fluttering 
upon  her  shoulders. 

Remembering  her  shyness,  he  dashed  off  for  a  swift 
pursuit;  but  she,  laughing,  waited  his  coming,  and  gra- 
ciously, as  a  queen  might  do,  held  her  beautiful  cheek  to 
him  for  a  kiss,  which  he  took  reverently,  as  a  favored 
subject. 

All  did  not  readily  pay  their  forfeits ;  but  if  one  de- 
murred either  at  taking  her  own,  or  paying  one,  her 
partner  forthwith  set  out  to  establish  his  privilege,  and 
if  she  ran  away  he  must  needs  follow,  so  there  was 
mirth  a-plenty  ;  fleeing  girls  and  their  pursuers  running 
in  and  out  among  bright  plumed  shuttlecocks,  or  hiding, 
full  of  frolic,  behind  sober  dames.  Thus  they  sped  the 
time  away  until  'Lisbeth,  for  the  last  time,  came  down 
from  her  chamber  overlooking  the  Pond,  clad  in  plum- 
colored  camlet,  edged  at  neck  and  wrists  with  dimity 
ruffles. 

A  cloak  of  like  texture  and  color  was  plaited  into 
a  narrow  shoulder-yoke  and  hung  full  about  her.  It 
fastened  with  large  silver  hooks  and  eyes,  and  was  lined 
with  dark  primrose  silk,  so  was  the  great  cape  belonging 
to  it.  She  wore  a  leghorn  bonnet  lined  with  white  silk, 
trimmed  and  tied  with  white  ribbon  sprigged  with  plum 


372  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

color.  Her  face  showed  lily  fair  beneath  its  flaring 
brim. 

A  new  chaise,  drawn  by  John's  bay  horse,  drew  up 
before  the  door.  Jack  and  Tom  broke  upon  the  scene 
with  some  fine  show  of  bustle,  bearing  by  its  brass 
handles  a  smal),  hair-covered,  brass-nailed  trunk  which 
they  strapped  to  the  axle  of  the  chaise. 

Upon  the  trunk  Lettice  placed  a  large  rattan  basket, 
and  tied  its  stiff  handle  to  the  axle  with  linen  cord.  It 
contained  food  for  bite  and  sup  along  the  journey.  The 
whole  family  came  out  with  the  pair.  Before  them 
laughter  changed  to  hopeful  heartache,  as  one  by  one 
the  dear  neighbors  spoke  their  hearty  good-bys,  then 
turned  away,  some  not  trusting  themselves  to  look  upon 
the  grievous  parting,  some  mournfully  watching  where 
'Lisbeth's  mother  held  her  to  her  heart,  and  her  father 
kept  her  hands  in  both  his  own. 

Grandmother's  cap-border  was  tranquil,  its  challenge 
drowned  in  rain,  which  followed  the  lines  of  age  down 
her  unwilling  face.  Nothing  but  the  grave  could  be 
more  silent,  no  agony  but  its  own  could  be  sharper. 
Finally  John  spoke,  — 

"All  that  a  husband  can  be,  I  will  be  to  your  child." 

Thus  he  said  to  them,  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  the 
mother's  forehead. 

"  God  bless  you  both,  for  evermore,"  said  'Lisbeth's 
father ;  and  the  minister  answered,  "  Amen." 

Then  'Lisbeth  resolutely  put  her  hand  into  her  hus- 


The  End  373 

band's ;  yet  did  the  love-glow  from  her  eyes  beam 
through  thick  mists,  as  sunshine  through  spring  floods 
when  rain-clouds  touch  the  hills. 

The  bridegroom's  eyes  were  full,  and  the  veins  in  his 
temples  swelled  out ;  but  he  made  no  sign,  save  a  look 
of  unutterable  love  towards  his  bride,  another  of  un- 
bounded gratitude  towards  those  who  had  consented  to 
bless  his  life,  as  he  put  her  in  the  chaise,  and  the  bay 
started  on  his  journey  to  the  sea,  carrying  them  to 
found  a  new  home  where  contentment,  affection,  and 
unity  should  dwell  their  whole  lives  long.  Mr.  King 
said  to  his  wife  in  a  husky  voice,  — 

"  You  an'  the  gals  will  have  tew  stay  an'  talk  it  over 
a  spell,  I  s'pose ;  but  I'm  goin'  intew  the  woods.  Hello, 
Spring,  where  be  you,  Watch  ?  Come  'long ;  we'll  mosey 
roun'  the  coon-tracks  a  little  'fore  we  go  home,"  and 
they  all  trotted  toward  the  meadow. 

The  Lanes,  Kuth,  and  Lois  remained  to  supper;  in- 
deed, Lois  was  to  stay  some  time. 

"  Till  we  kinder  git  over  it,"  Lettice  said. 

"  'Taiii't  very  long  tew  June,"  observed  the  old  lady, 
trying  to  bind  up  their  bruised  hearts  with  the  essential 
oil  of  consolation. 

Lettice,  in  the  pantry,  whither  Mrs.  Lane  had  fol- 
lowed, remarked  dryly,  — 

"I  guess  she  sees  the  diff'runce  'tween  Boston  an' 
Plymouth ;  I  dew.  Seems  as  though  I  should  sink.  I 
declare,  when  I  come  in  here  tew  skim  this  sweet  cream 


374  'Lisbeth  Wilson 

for  the  table,  I  give  that  pan  sech  a  jerk  as  nigh  tipped 
it  over  right  on  tew  my  bran  new  dress." 

She  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  pale  mother,  and  stepped 
back  into  the  kitchen,  cheerily  remarking,  — 

"  Law,  no,  Mis'  Wilson ;  as  gran'ma  says,  we  shall 
have  tew  fly  'round  an'  be  in  a  clutter  all  the  time  tew 
perpare  for  'em,  an'  finish  'Lisbeth's  linen ;  'sides,  here's 
Ruth  and  Lois  gittiii'  ready  agin  she  comes." 

"  Oh  !  oh !  "  exclaimed  the  girls. 

"Needn't  oh  me.  I  ain't  blind  nor  deef.  If  Dick 
Sleeper  goes  tew  Boston  a-practisin'  law  with  John,  he 
ain't  goin'  alone,  I'll  be  bound." 

The  "years  went  by,  and  John  kept  his  promise  of 
bringing  'Lisbeth  home  each  year,  never  once  failing 
while  her  parents  lived,  and  finding  the  old  hearthstone 
with  a  happier  group  around  it  each  time. 

Grandmother  Wilson  went  from  this  life  ;  but  the  rest 
remained  until  two  little  grandsons  climbed  Mr.  Wil- 
son's knee,  or  ran  before  him,  chasing  butterflies  over 
clover  patches  ;  and  one  little  maid,  the  wonderment 
and  delight  of  Lettice,  with  her  father's  nut-brown  hair 
and  'Lisbeth's  steady  eyes,  had  grown  to  the  very  hearts 
of  the  household. 


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A  Modern  Adam  and  Eve  in  a  Garden.    By  AMANDA  M. 

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Bright,  amusing,  and  sensible.  A  story  of  two  people  who  set  out  to  win 
their  share  of  the  world's  wealth,  and  how  they  did  it;  which,  as  a  critic  says, 
"  is  rather  jolly  and  out-of-door-y,  and  ends  in  a  greenhouse,"  —  with  some  love 
and  pathos,  of  course,  and  mucn  practical  knowledge. 

The  Old  Woman  who  lived  iii  a  Shoe.    By  AMANDA  M. 

DOUGLAS.     Price  $1.50. 

This  is  not  a  child's  story,  nor  a  comic  view  of  household  life,  —  as  some 
might  think  from  its  title  —  but  a  domestic  novel,  full  of  the  delights  of  home, 
of  pure  thoughts,  and  gentle  virtues.  It  has  also  sufficient  complications  to 
keep  the  thread  of  interest  draivn,  and  to  lead  the  reader  on.  Among  Miss 
DOUGLAS'  many  successful  books,  there  is  none  more  beautiful  of  attractive,  or 
which  leaves  a  more  permanent  impression. 

Claudia.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.     Price  $1.50. 

This  is  a  romantic  story,  with  abundant  incidents  and  strong  situations. 
The  interest  is  intense.  It  concerns  two  half  sisters,  whose  contrasted  charac- 
ter and  complicated  fortunes  are  the  charm  of  the  book. 

Seven  Daughters.    By  AMANDA  M.DOUGLAS.    Price  $1.50. 

The"  Seven"  are  daughters  of  a  country  clergyman  who  is  not  greatly  blessed 
with  the  good  things  of  the  world.  The  story  is  related  by  the  eldest,  who 
considers  herself  far  from  brilliant  or  witty,  but  who  makes  charming  pictures 
of  all  who  figure  in  the  book.  The  good  minister  consents  to  receive  a  number 
of  bright  boys  as  pupil-boarders,  and  the  two  families  make  a  suggestive 
counterpoise,  with  mutual  advantage.  Destiny  came  with  the  coming  of  the 
boys,  and  the  story  has  naturally  a  happy  end. 

The  Foes  of  her  Household.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS. 

Price  $1.50. 

"This  is  an  exceedingly  entertaining  book.  A  simple  girl,  of  beautiful 
character,  marries  a  young  man  in  poor  health  out  of  pure  love,  and  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  he  is'rich.  1 1  is  death  occurs  not  very  long  after  the  marriage, 
and  the  voung  widow  becomes  the  object  of  practical  persecution  by  his  rela- 
tives, who  misunderstand  her  motives  entirely.  With  a  nobility  of  character, 
as  rare  as  heautiful,  she  destroys  their  prejudice,  and  at  last  teaches  them  to 
love  her." —  Central  Baptist,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  BOSTON,  SEND  THEIR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE  FREE. 


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Tbe  Fortunes  of  the  Faradays.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS. 
Price  $1.50. 

"  Miss  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS  is  a  prolific  writer  of  novels,  and  her  circle  of 
leaders  is  flatteringly  large.  Her  works  are  full  of  spirited  action,  and  are, 
.nureover,  wholesome  in  tone  and  purpose.  'The  Fortunes  of  the  Faradays' 
is  the  latest  product  of  her  pen,  and  is  of  equal  merit  with  her  other  books.  It 
is  ;,  story  of  family  life,  full  of  sweet,  home  pictures,  and  fair,  lovable,  and 
ver>  human  personages."—  Commonwealth. 

Ill  Trust.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.     Price,  cloth,  $1.50;  paper, 
50  cents. 

A  young  doctor,  two  weeks  before  his  intended  marriage,  has,  through  his 
father's  sudden  death,  a  family  of  half  brothers  and  sisters  thrown  upon  his 
charge.  He  sets  himself  to  the  task  of  rearingthese  children,— a  task  in  which 
he  is  opposed  by  his  affianced  bride.  A  separation  ensues  :  not  to  his  loss. 

"  Miss  DOUGLAS  has  a  rare  gift  for  portraying  domestic  life,  and  she  has  never 
used  it  to  better  purpose  than  in  the  story  now  issued.  It  is  full  of  incident 
and  variety,  holds  up  a  high  ideal,  and  carries  it  out  in  the  action  of  the  story, 
so  that  one  cannot  read  the  narrative  without  an  impulse  to  live  for  a  purpose, 
and  to  cultivate  the  highest  and  best  qualities  that  make  true  men  and  women." 
—  Providence  Journal, 

JJarry:  THE  $2,000  PRIZE,  STORY.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS. 
Price,  cloth,  $1.00;   paper,  50  cents. 

There  is  always  a  certain  fascination  in  witnessing  the  development  of  a 
noble  nature;  and  "  Larry"  becomes  a  rare  specimen  of  an  ingenuous,  modest, 
and  high-spirited  young  man.  The  scenery  of  his  Western  home  is  vividly 
depicted,  and  the  people  with  whom  his  lot  is  cast  become  real  men  and  women 
under  the  author's  creative  touches.  Its  incidents  are  wholly  within  probable 
limits,  yet  they  afford  an  unusual  opportunity  for  dramatic  effects,  and  for  the 
contrasts  which  are  the  life  of  a  novel. 

Bethia  Wray's   New   Name.     By  AMANDA   M.  DOUGLAS. 
Price,  cloth,  $1.50. 


already  high  reputation. 

In    the    King's    Country.     By  AMANDA    M.    DOUGLAS.      A 

Christian  Endeavor  story.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

There  is  the  touch  of  the  born  story-teller  in  this  latest  book  of  Miss  DOUGLAS'S, 
which  has  made  her  the  friend  of  young  and  old  wherever  her  well-known  novels 
have  circulated.  The  strong,  earnest  purpose  and  lofty  moral  tone  of  the  book 
make  it  a  most  excellent  companion  for  a  young  girl.  Character-building  is  its  key- 
note, and  no  one  could  fail  to  be  benefited  by  studying  the  development  of  the  life 
of  Sabrina  Eastwood  and  its  effect  on  the  lives  of  those  around  her. 

In  Wild  Rose  Time.    By  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS.    Cloth  $1.50. 

Miss  DOUGLAS  has  given  us  a  story  as  strong  and  true  in  its  pictures  of  life 
ami  Mg  the  poor,  and  the  trials  and  temptations  which  surround  them,  and  also  of  the 
nob.e  lives  which  spring  up  and  blossom  amid  such  scenes,  as  anything  which  has 
previously  emanated  from  her  pen. 

Faith,  Love,  Hope  and  Charity  shine  out  on  every  page  of  this  book  like  beacon 
lights,  and  so  vivid  are  the  pen-pictures  that  one  seems  to  be  a  participant  in  them. 

Had  Miss  DOUGLAS  written  but  this  one  book,  it  would  alone  have  placed  her 
name  among  our  best  authors- 

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